


Broken Isolation

by YeahMeRule



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bartender Connor, Case Fic, Connor's human name in this one is Connor R. Kelly, Dorks in Love, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentions of attempted/intended suicide, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Pining, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, alternative universe, but not really, mostly just Hank and Connor being dorks, side characters are mostly random ocs because I'm a coward, the violence is not even that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YeahMeRule/pseuds/YeahMeRule
Summary: Isolation, it is said, only makes things worse. To Hank Anderson and Connor R. Kelly, it almost brought them to the threshold of death in their own separate ways. Yet, as the two men find themselves in the same city, pushed together by unpredicted scenarios, their isolation is broken whether they want it or not.OrConnor thought escaping his old life would help. Hank thought alcohol would take away those memories he wished he could forget. As it turns out, all they needed was each other and a couple of post-it notes.





	1. A Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Yo!  
This is the first fic I've written in suuuuper long, 'cuz I've had the longest writers block in years.  
I know I have a lot of unfinished fics, but this one is all finished so no worry about that! I will probably upload once every week! The chapters have varying lengths, so this chapter might be short, but there will be longer ones!  
I wrote this during 5 very intense days, and I've tried to edit it to the best of my ability, but it is what it is!  
I'm proud regardless!

**Hank  
**

As the door closed behind him and the warmth of the bar swept over his cold cheeks, Hank Anderson felt himself melt just the slightest. His shoulders were still tense, his hands in his pockets, and eyes averted, but he still felt the way his mind settled. Perhaps, it was only the thought that he would finally get some liquid into his broken system, or perhaps it was just to get away from the harsh gaze of Captain Fowler, regardless, being there was a relief. Fuck, Jeff had been the worst as of recent.

Without saying anything to Aaron, the owner and lone bartender of the establishment, he found his usual spot in the corner, sitting down with a huff. For a bar called “In the Corner”, it was ironic that Hank always found himself sitting in the corner, either nursing a beer, or chugging as much whiskey as he could. It was secluded, hidden slightly by other tables and couches, perfect for keeping himself away from the other regulars. He did not like the way they looked at him, judging him in the same way as those assholes at the precinct. Aaron, on the other hand, was a good man, and he would even like to call them friends, despite the fact that Aaron probably liked Hank’s money more than his company. But, what could you do?

Finally, having shrugged off his jacket and made himself comfortable, he looked over at the bar, slightly surprised at the fact that Aaron had not yet greeted him. Usually, he was greeted as soon as he stepped through the door, and Aaron would keep on his conversation while Hank got seated on his spot. Now, he had only been met with silence, which was nice, but slightly unnerving.

Once his eyes finally locked with the brown ones on the other side of the counter, he understood the silence perfectly, and he sighed heavily. Behind the bar was not the usual large, yet warm presence of Aaron, but rather a much younger man whom smiled pleasantly at him. This new person was dressed even more formally than Aaron usually did as he wore a white shirt, a black tie, and black dress pants. He looked more at home in an office, than in a completely empty bar. Hank sighed once more.

“Good day, Sir! Anything I can get you?” the stranger called and for the first time, he was not happy being the only person in the bar. Being alone meant this new guy would try to make conversation, and that was not something Hank was up for right now. Especially not the way the kind, warm voice tugged on something deep within him, made him want to hide even more.

“Some whiskey” he replied, maybe a bit too curtly, but he could not care less. Before walking into the bar, he had actually considered just going for beer and getting some sort of work done, yet he could not help but feel that the change in environment changed his own decision. Regardless, he found himself digging out the notes and files of the case he had been given, hoping that he could at least look busy enough to be unapproachable.

Once all the papers were laid out, the stranger came up and laid down a coaster before the glass of whiskey. Hank could not help but eye this new man slightly now that he was close enough to properly see. Judging by his looks, the young man could not be more than 30 years old, Hank figured as he glanced at him, his face turned down towards his papers. With the dark brown hair perfectly kept, and the clothes neatly ironed, he was an odd person to see in such a bar as this. “The Corner”, as the regulars called it, was a bar placed in the corner of one of the least busy streets in Detroit. It was rarely visited by anyone other than the regulars whom enjoyed both the quiet and Aaron’s kindness, so it was laidback in décor as well as style. This upkept, square man did not fit in, which made Hank feel worse.

“Are you possibly Hank Anderson?” the stranger once again addressed him, and Hank sighed deeply, feeling that he would be continuing to do that for quite awhile. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

“What’s it to you?” Hank snapped back, still with his eyes averted.

“Mr. Collins informed me of all the regulars as well as their general appearance to prepare me for the job. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable, Lieutenant, I just wish to familiarise myself and make myself known. Besides, Mr. Collins spoke well of you” after his all too formal speech, the stranger extended a hand, a still pleasant smile upon his lips. “My name is Connor, the new barkeep here to assist Mr. Collins”

Hank could not help but look up at the man fully, at Connor, with a frown. Being bombarded with formality did not help his already sour mood and the overly polite way of speaking made Hank feel even more unsettled as he glared at the newcomer. Instead of taking Connor’s outstretched hand, he reached for his glass of whiskey and downed it without a word, turning back to his papers. Hopefully that would be enough of a clue for this young man to fuck off.

In the corner of his eye, Hank saw Connor retreat his hand and picked up the now empty glass of whiskey instead. For a moment, the hand seemed to shiver as it grabbed the glass, but Hank was unsure if he actually saw such a nervous gesture or if he was trying to find any reason at all to dislike the man even more. Lies hidden underneath a perfectly nice façade, was the absolute worse. Soon, Connor retreated to the bar, but came back shortly after with yet another glass of whiskey. For a moment, Hank was almost pleased, before the man spoke once more.

“Are you working right now?” Connor asked, and Hank heard the curiously intrigued tone in his voice. Damn nosey little shit. 

“Not when you keep fucking interrupting me” Hank responded without really wanting to. The best approach would be to keep ignoring Connor, letting him get frustrated without a response so that he would leave him the fuck alone. But there was something in his tone of voice that made him harsher than he wanted to be.

“I apologise for my intrusion” Connor quickly said but did not seem to back away as he instead leaned in slightly closer, trying to read the documents more closely. “I am new to Detroit, but I worked as a detective a while ago. I guess it’s difficult to let go off old habits”

There was undoubtedly something dark in those all too warm, all too kind eyes, Hank could see that now as Connor scanned his documents. If he did not know better, he would almost have said that there was a longing in them, a desire, but also a clear intelligence. Having worked in homicide for so long, Hank had gotten better at reading people’s expression, something that was vital during interrogations. Usually, he kept his observations down to a minimum, uncaring of the world, but there was something about Connor, or maybe it was just the day he had had, that made him notice more than he thought he wanted.

“Don’t care, gives you no right to see” Hank retorted and scraped his papers into a pile, trying to hide them away from Connor’s analysing eyes like a child hiding drawings from a curious adult. “Fuck off now, I’m busy”

This time, Connor seemed to understand what Hank was saying and he gave him a short nod, still smiling. “I apologise once more” he said, though there was disappointment in that sweet voice of his. “My curiosity got the better of me. I shall return to the bar. If there is anything I can get you, please call for me”

With that, Connor left him alone at last. Except, Hank would have liked to say that he returned to his documents without any difficulty and without those brown eyes in mind, but he could not help his mind from wandering. Once he had finally finished his second glass of whiskey, he found himself unable to call for Connor for more. It was as if saying his name was a failure, a loss, and instead he found himself calling “Bartender” instead. It was easier on his mind.

The day progressed in a similar fashion, and Hank did not get shit done. Again. He kept drinking, the burning of the whiskey down his throat a balm to his mind, and yet oil to the flame. The sun had long since set when he was about to pack his things and head home to keep drinking, to get stupidly drunk to make stupid mistakes, when a cup of coffee was placed in front of him instead. At the time he was just buzzed, not nearly enough where he wanted to be, and yet this cup of coffee stopped him in his steps. Turning his eyes upwards, he saw Connor receding back to the bar, but for a moment he turned back, giving him another soft smile before continuing to serve the two other regulars who found themselves there that Tuesday night. Hank could for some reason not get up. The need to get stupidly drunk washed through him, back and forth, back and forth, like the ebb and flow of the sea, and yet, he kept himself seated, his eyes on the mug of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that I do these wonderful characters good because they deserve the world! I am not a native English speaker, though, so forgive me if there are some odd wordings and grammar and suchlike!  
Please do talk to me about these babies! I'm so obsessed with them right now and I need someone to talk to! My tumblr is yeahmerule, so feel free to send a message.  
Also, please comment and leave kudos! This is the first long fic I've finished on my own in this way, so I appreciate everything <3  
See you next week for the next chapter: "A Strange Beginning"


	2. A Strange Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I'd upload the second chapter as well since the first one is so short!

**Connor**

The new job was treating him better than he had thought it would. Coming back in routine, finding himself needed instead of finding himself needing was a relief. In general, if he was being purely objective that is, getting away from his old city and the views therein had done him well. That he kept staring into the wall of his small apartment as empty in mind as it was of colour, was nothing. It just took time, he told himself. Nothing important.

Everything had a flipside, though, something he was too aware of at the same time as he was avoiding it at all cost. Getting away from the city, his city, meant that here he was nothing. No one. The name Connor R. Kelly was nothing here. Looking around at all the unknown faces made him feel invisible and albeit its positive sides, that feeling of invisibility was tearing on him.

That was when work became extra crucial for his survival, he knew. Work gave him purpose, a goal, and a way to reach it. He stopped thinking about the need for validation that he had, and instead did his outmost to be the perfect bartender, the perfect help to Mr. Aaron Collins, his employer. The man was kind, and always said that Connor did not need to work as hard as he did, but Connor kept going regardless. On the very first day, he memorised the names of all the regulars by heart and at the end of the week he knew the best way to approach all of them. Some of them preferred silence; others company; some wanted him to talk; others just wanted to be listened to. Connor was there, and he tried his best to help.

Yet, he was also keenly aware of the fact that there was one regular that he could not seem to reach. He only met him for the first time a few of days ago, and he had been surprised to who it was. Of course, he knew Lieutenant Hank Anderson, the youngest man to be promoted to Lieutenant in Detroit, and he knew the successes that lead up to it. Thus, seeing someone he looked up to, someone he knew was in the same work that he had just left behind, put him a bit off balance. That the man he looked up to turned out to be a grumpy man whom did definitely not want to talk to Connor, well, that did not help in the slightest. Instead, Connor kept watching, wishing so desperately that he could help.

That first day he met Anderson, he had given him a cup of coffee when he noticed that the older man had been drinking far too much way too fast in a manner all too familiar. He had tried his best the entire evening to be kind, to give space, to initiate conversation, but the Lieutenant seemed to be even more frustrated by each new approach Connor tried. The cup of coffee was, to put it simply, his last attempt to do something. And it had worked? Seeing Anderson stare at the cup of coffee with such an intense glare as if he was trying to will it out of existence, was odd. Connor could almost swear he saw the cogwheels in the man’s head turning and turning and turning until eventually, he seemed to slump back. After that, he drank his cup of coffee and left without a word to Connor, without even a look. At that time, Connor thought he had made a mistake.

Yet, Anderson kept coming back to the little bar in the corner of the street. The very next day, Connor found the older man again sitting in the corner, seemingly engrossed in his papers. At the time, Connor had tried to give him space, unable to let himself approach without his hammering heart making it all too difficult to breathe, but after a little while he heard the familiar “Ey, bartender!”. He quickly approached Anderson, surprised to be called, but the only thing he did was to order a beer. That was it. No casual talking at all, not even looking at him. For some reason, Connor felt a heaviness in his chest.

The following days were all the same. Anderson would come in, sit down, and then keep ordering beers until late night when Connor would serve him a coffee instead, which he finished before heading home without even a look. Seeing that habit of drinking, that seclusion, made Connor’s heart ache with a worry he could not quite place. Of course, being worried was natural, but he could not understand why Anderson, of all the regulars, was the one to stir his heart. There was something in the depth of those blue eyes that resonated within Connor, reminded him of something he tried so hard to push away, to ignore. What that thing was, he did not know, nor did he want to find out as he felt the creeping tension within him, the ache in his stomach that he recognised well enough to avoid. Don’t think, just work.

One day, he decided to ask Mr. Collins about Anderson, after all, they were friends. It was a couple of weeks after his first encounter with the Lieutenant, and as of recent he had noticed that the older man was growing more frustrated for each day. Mr. Collins and Connor found themselves one day before their opening hour at 12 A.M., preparing the new options for food that would be presented to the costumers in hope for the establishment to grow. Connor knew Mr. Collins did not have it easy at the moment, but the reason for it was yet not revealed.

“Mr. Collins, may I ask you something about one of the regulars?” he asked as they had finally finished putting up some sandwiches in the new display by the cash register.

Pausing for a moment, Mr. Collins usually warm façade seemed to crack the slightest bit as he frowned. The look made Connor’s hands shiver, and he quickly grabbed a cloth to wipe the new display, trying to look busy, casual. He knew he failed.

“Why?” Mr. Collins asked, voice tentative, but still kind. “And who?”

“I have noticed that Lieutenant Hank Anderson is one of your regulars. I know, you did tell me his name and general look as well as the fact that he is your friend, but I recognise him from my work as well… I mean previous work” the nervousness within him seemed to grow steadily and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “I have come to notice that he comes here every day, drinking until nightfall, and I know this to be a symptom of alcoholism. I do not wish to pry, not in the slightest, I am just concerned. I do not know how you would like me to handle the situation.”

When he finished talking, he dared a small glance at Mr. Collins, only to see his eyes burning into him, arms crossed over his large chest. The look terrified Connor, but he forced himself to meet his eyes with a smile, hoping that Mr. Collins would see that he only meant well. His hands that held the cloth shivered more and Connor cursed himself for it.

After a while, Mr. Collins finally spoke. “Hank’s not the easiest man to handle. He’s been through some difficult things, and I really don’t think it’s my right to say what those things are” Mr. Collins voice was steady, but if Connor was not mistaken, there was a hint of worry in that deep voice. “But… If you actually wanna work here for a while, you might have to… deal with him at some point… So, are you? Or are you searching for something else at the moment?”

Slightly surprised at the question, Connor managed to straighten his back and shake his head. “No, I do plan to keep working here, if I may! I have no intention of seeking something else” he said, before he found himself smiling, the corners of his lips tugged up just slightly, almost shyly. “I actually find myself enjoying this more than I thought I would. I think this job helps me a lot”

Once again, the warmth seeped back into Mr. Collins kind eyes and the man sighed, shaking his head. The smile put Connor slightly more at ease, and he felt his grip on the cloth loosen a bit, his shivering not as violent.

“That makes me happy to hear, Connor, you’ve been an excellent help and I appreciate you” Mr. Collins said before sighing, digging his hands into the pockets of his old jeans instead of crossed over his chest. “Well… I guess I’ll just say, when it comes to Hank; he doesn’t have it very easy. I have helped him home a couple of times after he drank too much here. I can’t say why, ‘cuz I know he will tell you if he wants to. Which might happen and might not. Just be nice to him, okay? I wish I could be here more often and talk to him, but I can’t as of right now. So just be nice to him”

For a moment, Mr. Collins looked almost defeated, his beautiful dark brown eyes turned to the floor, but he shrugged, seemingly gathering himself slightly. With a smile that seemed so genuine, he patted Connor on the shoulder. The feeling of that warm hand made Connor’s heart swell for the tiniest moment, before it again crashed into the dark depths of his mind. How could he possibly live up to the expectations? How could he possibly repay Mr. Collins for the good he had done him?

“Thank you” Connor ended up saying, still smiling softly. While his heart trashed and sank further in his chest with worry, the two of them parted to continue preparing the bar for opening. Or more correctly, the café at this hour of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is alright and all!  
Kudos and comments are still super appreciated <3   
Now next chapter will be up in a week so be ready for it; "Burning Whiskey and Post-it Notes"


	3. Burning Whiskey and Post-it Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT:   
Changed the tags slightly! This fic will not contain any suicide attempts, just mentions thereof, so be aware of that!  
Sorry for the trouble!

**Hank**

The case was not getting anywhere. A fucking dead end. No leads. Everything god damn cold as ice. Everything about this case frustrated Hank, exhausted him beyond anything, and yet he knew that he could not simply stop, give up, hand it in, be done with it. This was his last chance. When Hank was first given the case, he had thought he could deal with it like he normally did, casually without help from anyone. But Jeff had had something else in mind. Hank knew that his captain suffered a lot of complaints due to Hank’s behaviour, but more than anything, lack of productivity, which in turn damaged the entire department. Knowing this, yet changing nothing was what his colleagues hated, Hank knew that all too well. However, changing was not an option. Dying, on the other hand, would be a relief.

Yet, Jeff had given him the case and said that if he did not get anywhere with it, if he could not deal with it alone like Hank kept saying that he could, it would be his last. If Hank failed, Jeff would either force him in with a partner for the first time in a long, long while, or Hank would quit on his own volition. At the time, when Jeff first gave him the ultimatum, Hank almost quit on the spot, almost spat and rushed out of the place with no intention of doing anything else but finally put that gun against his own head, sure that it would fire. Still, something within him would not quite give up. Maybe it was the care he could see in Jeff’s eyes, maybe it was the knowledge that his colleagues may hate his behaviour but still liked him, maybe it was just pure stubbornness, but he had agreed. He had taken the stupid file and left the room without a word. What Jeff did not know, though, was that he had made a deal with himself at the same time.

For every day that he felt himself stuck, he would play Russian Roulette, he had told himself. And for each time he felt himself stuck with no return; he would add a bullet for it. Leave it to chance but increase the risk at the same time. Go down with a bang, he had told himself. Be done with it. Yet, now that he knew he was as stuck as he could possibly be, he had still not added that second bullet. He had still not increased the chance. Why? He had no fucking idea, and that frustrated him even more. 

It was in that mind of frustration, that he burst through the doors of The Corner, papers in hand, but with no intention to work in mind. Instead, he sat down in his corner, and ordered a whiskey. His mind racing, his heart aching. In the end, he thought, he was both a failure as a father, and as a detective. In general, a failure. Nothing else. Outside, the weather was starting to turn with large, grey clouds making their way across the blue sky. Winter laid in the air, and in Hank’s heart.

The heaviness in his chest just kept growing, and he kept his eyes averted from the bartender’s stupid handsome face and kind smile. As a bartender, the idiot was perfect. Not only did he have an infectious smile that seemed to bring up the mood of the regulars, but his hands worked the bottles so perfectly when he mixed the customers’ drinks. He saw the bottles fly into the air, before he easily grabbed it and poured it into a glass. Something else he had also come to notice in the weeks he had gone to this bar every stupid day, was that the regulars were ordering more and more complicated drinks. Fuck, he had even seen George, the always beer drinking asshole, order a martini just to have a reason to watch Connor play around with those stupid bottles. Hank would never lower himself that far, he had told himself. That he had noticed all this was just because the kid was annoying and all over the place. And always trying to talk to him.

The whiskey slid down his throat with ease, burning his insides, bringing warmth. And yet, it increased the heaviness of his chest, the winter storms of his heart ever stronger. His mind kept racing with thoughts, images, and he ordered another whiskey, shouting “bartender” loud enough for some of the regulars to eye him. Connor hurried over and refilled his drink. Was it worry in his eyes? Fuck, as if he cared. He downed his whiskey before Connor had even left the table.

“Just leave the bottle” he mumbled, and Connor obliged, placing the bottle of whiskey upon the table. Hank was just about to grab it, when the slender hand Hank had seen throwing those damn bottles around, grabbed his own, oh, so gently. Now, Hank could not deny the shivers he felt in it, the coldness of it. Surprisingly dry, though.

“Anderson, I will only leave this bottle here if you have a safe way of getting home” Connor’s voice was goofy, Hank thought as the younger man spoke. God damn goofy. His face was goofy, too.

“Yeah, yeah whatever” Hank tore his hand free and grabbed the bottle, quickly filling his glass, the frustration once again grinding his nerves to a pulp. He was an adult; the kid did not have to take care of him like some elderly idiot.

Connor seemed to hesitate once more, but someone else called for his attention, and the younger man gave Hank another soft smile before leaving him to his own thoughts. For a second, Hank missed the feeling of the cold hand in his own. There was something about Connor that put him on the edge. Something about the smile, the shivering hand, and the glances, that made Hank’s heart ache even more. Sometimes he could swear he saw Connor stare straight into the wall with a vacant look in his eyes, and those hands shivering even more. Not that Hank cared, not at all. It was just his detective habits noticing things about the people in his surrounding, nothing more.

Before his mind could say anything more, he found himself screwing off the pourer and raising the entire bottle to his lips. He knew that all he drank would be put on his tab, and yet, he started to drink from the bottle, chugging down as much as he could. Until he could not remember anything, but the growing closeness of his chest, the desperation in his veins.

* * *

Next day came as a surprise. When Hank opened his eyes, his head throbbing, seemingly wanting to explode, he was surprised to see the ceiling of his own home. He sat up quickly, a bit too quickly for his head as it once again throbbed even harder, leaving him groaning, but he was used to this. Used to his now aching stomach, and the pressure in his throat that told him that he was most definitely going to be sick; he managed to sit fully up. Once again surprised, he found that his pants and socks were off. Quickly, he looked around the room and noticed them folded neatly on his armchair. Even more confused, he noticed a class of water and two painkillers on his nightstand, laying easily accessible from his position on the bed. Without really thinking, he took the pills and finished the water in two large gulps, before standing up slowly. Wave after wave of nausea rocked him, made him question the pills, but as soon as he felt it calm down enough for him to move, he made his way out into the living room.

Sumo met him in the hallway, tail wagging, tongue flopping out of his mouth in his usual happy dog grin. Leaning down carefully, Hank scratched Sumo’s head right behind one of his ears, which the large dog happily leaned into. He could not deny that it was odd that Sumo was happy this morning when a stranger had most definitely entered his house the night before. After all, it could not have been Aaron as he had not been working last night. Unless Connor called him. Now, that was a thought he was more comfortable with, and he tried his best to focus on it despite his throbbing headache.

When the headache had finally calmed down enough to be a low throb instead of a blinding explosion, he noticed that his house looked neater. The boxes of takeout and various empty bottles of liquor were no longer covering every surface, but he could actually see the wood of his table for the first time in God knows how long. On the kitchen table, he saw a familiar pile of files and papers and two unfamiliar, colourful post-it notes on the very top of it. Quickly, he made his way over, discomfort in each vein of his body. Not only had someone fucking cleaned his house and taken off his pants, but they had apparently touched his papers as well. Who the fuck would do such a thing? For a moment, Hank was glad that he had nothing of value in his house other than his dog, before he started to read the note. The handwriting was neat, and he was surprised to see how much text the unknown assailant could fit on two small pieces of colourful paper. 

“_Good Morning, Anderson._  
_First, I want to mention that you gave me the permission to enter your house last night, so please do not feel as if I broke in. I merely followed instructions. Secondly, I wish to apologise for giving you the entire bottle last night. I hold myself personally accountable for your current hangover, and thus took the liberty to clean as an apology. I hope that I did not overstep any boundaries. Please take care today._  
_ Best Regards, Connor R. Kelly._”

Hank stopped reading for a moment, feeling more confused than he thought he had ever had before in his entire life. Connor had apparently helped him from the bar last night, somehow gotten Hank to his house, with his permission, and still felt guilty for it. Feeling guilty, the younger man had even cleaned his mess of a house, and Sumo had not reacted at all? The thought made his heart ache for a reason he could not quite understand. Perhaps, it was embarrassment he thought he had long since overcome mixed with the shock of this extremely bizarre situation. Shaking off the thought, he kept reading the second note.

“_P.S. I must say that your dog is adorable. I love him very much. I learnt his name from Mr. Collins, and he was nothing but wonderful when I arrived. You are a very lucky man to have such a lovely friend.  
P.P.S. I am once again very sorry, but I could not help but glance quickly on your case before I left. Old habits die hard, as they say. Nonetheless, I just wish to mention that I think you should go back to the roommate of the first victim and interrogate him again. He is hiding something_”

Hank was truly baffled, speechless as he finished reading the last note. The audacity this idiot had to come in here, clean because he was “feeling guilty”, and then go on and say what he should do. Rage filled Hank, filling him as if it put the alcohol in his veins on fire, until suddenly, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. Slowly, he turned around, seeing that on the counter over Sumo’s bowl of food, laid a small bag of what could be nothing else, but dog treats. The package was already opened, and as he was watching it, stricken numb by the sight of it, he noticed Sumo looking at him in excitement, tail wagging. For a moment, all he could do was to stand there staring, until he reached over, grabbing one of the treats. It was shaped in such a way that he recognised it to be one of those that were good for a dog’s teeth with edges that he had seen many commercials mention was like brushing teeth for dogs. Sumo’s tail was wagging even more, and before Hank could do anything about it, he was kneeling down, giving the treat to Sumo whom started to chew straight away, tail thumping happily on the ground.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into now…” he mumbled as he absentmindedly stroked Sumo’s soft fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this story is still interesting! I know it's slowpaced (I'm bad at pacing haha...), but things are picking up slightly in the next chapters! This is still the first longer fic I've done so I have no idea how it is!  
Thank you all for the kudos and comment, I super appreciate it!! <3  
Come talk this ship with me tumblr @yeahmerule  
Next chapter will be up the 14th: "A Second Chance"


	4. A Second Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day early because I have no control and suck at math!  
(Also mentioning once more that there was a slight change in tags!)

**Connor**

Maybe he had overstepped his boundaries, Connor thought for the millionth time. Maybe he should not have cleaned, and maybe he should have definitely not looked at the files. Or he could have looked at the files, but he should not have written that note saying that he had. Yet, he knew that he did not want to lie to Anderson. Imagining lying about it made his stomach ache even more, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths before he could think clearly once again. Being stuck in his room did not help his racing mind and steadily growing panic.

Today was his first day off since he started to work at The Corner, and his first day off in Detroit in general. Mr. Collins had forced him to try to relax, reassuring him that he could deal with the bar alone and that he did not have any other obligations that day. So, Connor had no other option, but to stay home that day. Or try to at least. He knew that the reason he had dared to clean and even read the files earlier that night when he helped Hank home, was partially just because he knew that he would not see the man again the very next day. He had hoped that giving Hank a day without seeing him would cool off the probable rage he had, knowing that Connor had been in his personal space. Or, that was at least Connor’s guess from what he could gather about the Lieutenant.

Yet, now that he was sitting there, the silence echoed heavily around him, and within him. He felt each crack of the house, each step off his neighbours, punch him in the stomach, forcing him to think of the isolation that caged him. It was already midday, long after he had woken up, and yet he had done nothing but sit on the edge of his bed, his hands doing coin tricks while his mind refused to calm down. Over and over again he threw the coin from one hand to the other, occasionally stopping to letting the coin slide over his knuckles before he once again palmed it. It was supposed to be soothing, but he could not feel its soothing effect this day. All he could do, was to feel the growing tenseness in his body, the way the air seemed too heavy, too thick, weighing him down. He knew this feeling all too well. Not today, he tried to say, but his voice would not come out.

Suddenly, the sound of his buzzing phone brought him out of his mind, and he jumped by the loudness, his heart in his throat. Glancing over at the screen at his night table, he recognised the number, and quickly picked up his phone, his heart racing.

“R. Kelly speaking” he replied and as expected, he recognised the voice on the other side of the line as that of his employer.

“Connor, er… Sorry to call you on your day off” Mr. Collins began, his voice almost hesitant, confused. Worry once again filled Connor, his stomach twisting.

“Not a problem at all, Mr. Collins, what can I do for you?” Connor answered pleasantly, trying to keep his anxiety in check. He knew he could make his voice level when he needed it. That was the only good thing his old department forced him to learn. Another wave of anxiety shot through him by the memory, and his knuckles grew white as his grip on the phone grew harder, the plastic digging into his skin.

“Well, I have no idea what you did, but Hank’s here and he wants to talk to you?” the statement was more a question that anything, and Connor could swear he heard Hank’s voice distantly on the other side. “Yeah, he wants to talk to you, but apparently not over the phone. Can you come down here, or do you have plans?”

Connor’s heart was hammering heavily in his chest, and he had to hold a hand over his mouth to keep his breath from coming out in small, uneven gasps. Now he knew for sure that he had overstepped. Anderson was furious with him, there was no other explanation. The heaviness in his body grew and he involuntarily felt himself crumble into a ball, his hands shaking violently. Keep it in, he tried to tell himself as he slowly removed his hand from his mouth, his breath as possibly even as he could make it.

“I have no plans” he said, surprised how casual his own voice sounded, “I will come down straight away. I hope he can wait for an hour?”

“Yes, that’s not a problem, Connor, thank you” Mr. Collins replied, relief colouring his voice before he hung up, leaving Connor in a state of crushing panic.

* * *

Surprised with how fast he managed to make ready considering the attack he had after the phone call, Connor found himself outside the bar exactly an hour after, just like he had said. The wind around him was cold, making his hands shiver even more despite being dug deep into the pockets of his coat. Above him, the skies were grey, heavy with either snow or rain. His heart was still hammering heavily in his chest, and the exhaustion made him feel weak, but he stood there nevertheless, trying to gather his last bit of his strength. There was no way he could let himself fail trying to apologise to the Lieutenant, no way he could not plead with Mr. Collins enough to let him stay. This job was helping him, he knew that, and he also knew that losing it would be too much. Way too much.

After taking one last breath, he was just about to open the door, when the door opened on him, almost striking him square on the forehead. Out stepped Hank, clearly hungover and tired, but there, wearing a colourful pink and yellow striped shirt underneath a heavier winter jacket. It looked slightly ridiculous, and yet Connor felt his heart hammer, his breath stuck in his throat.

“Lieutenant” he said before he could help it, a blush on his cheeks. From whence it came, he was not certain. All he could feel was his hammering heart.

“Better than calling me Anderson, I guess” Anderson said, clearly slightly taken aback by the sudden appearance of Connor in the same way Connor was, but the confusion soon faded. “The fuck you just standing here for anyway? Y’know I can see you through the window. You’ve been standing there for five minutes”

The blush that before merely blossomed slightly on Connor’s cold cheeks now spread, and he felt the tips of his ears warm, knowing all too well that they were brightly red. Had he really stood outside for so long? And had he actually been stupid enough to call him Lieutenant? Calling him by his title was something Connor had tried to avoid due to not wanting to seem like a creep nor as more pressure. Now, it was too late anyway, and he felt himself swallowing, his mouth dry by his slight panic.

“I apologise, I did not know I stood there so long” he started, his voice as level as always once again. “A-anyway, what did you need me for?”

For a moment, it seemed like Hank was about to say something more, the frustration in those wonderfully blue eyes once again hot and strong, but as soon as it appeared, it vanished. Instead, the older man merely shrugged.

“You’re coming with me” Anderson said and turned on his heel, heading down the street, hands once again in his pockets. Quickly, Connor followed behind, trying his hardest not to start rambling, start apologising for whatever he had done wrong. Instead, he kept quiet, his heart still hammering in his chest.

By the time they had reached the car, the blush on Connor’s cheeks had calmed down just slightly and could now be mistaken for a blush from the cold. His breath was even, but his hands were still shivering. In attempt to mask his nervousness, he grabbed his coin, starting to let it play over his fingers once more. Anderson, on the other hand, merely opened the front door of his Ford Del Rey, jumping in with the ease of habit. When he was seated, he merely looked at Connor whom still stood, frozen on the sidewalk.

“Hop in already” the older man sighed, and before he had even finished the sentence, Connor jumped into the passenger seat, clicking on his seatbelt before his eyes finally met Anderson’s. Almost seeming to look through him, analyse him, the blues stayed focused on Connor whom felt himself shudder beneath the gaze. His heart felt heavy in his chest; his breath pained as if each he took was taken deep under water.

“Now” Anderson began as he finally stopped looking at the younger man, and instead started the car, his voice neutral. If Connor did not know better, he would almost think that Anderson was being friendly despite it all. “We’re gonna interrogate the roommate. If what you say is right, I won’t be furious that you read official police files, but if nothing comes of it, I’m definitely gonna be. Got it?”

Confused, all Connor could do for the moment was to stare at the Lieutenant with nothing else but disbelief. How could this man go from cursing at him, to then invite him into the investigation? Was he not angry? Questions swirled around his head, making him feel slightly dizzy, and yet, he nodded, a slight apologetic smile upon his lips.

“I still apologise for reading your files. I know it is not exactly legal to do so” he said, his voice coloured slightly by his own nervousness. Yet, he could not let himself fail the ultimatum he was given. The thought of going back into the field, once again doing not only what he loved, but what he was good at, it made his heart hammer in a much more positive way.

“I didn’t say anything about that” the reply was sharp, and Connor almost twitched, but he kept himself still, his shoulders tense. “I asked if you got it or not”

“I understand” Connor’s reply was immediate, and he nodded, the excitement shining through his eyes despite his calm demeanour. “I apologise”

“Stop fucking apologising already and instead explain why you think the guy’s hiding something” the Lieutenant responded without hesitation, as he finally switched into gear and started heading down the street. “You said you were a cop, so prove it”

On the way to the apartment that the first victim had shared with his roommate, Connor explained everything he had gathered in the little time that he had had. Not only did he mention the way the roommate had changed his explanation from one moment to another, going from saying that there might be something else, to quickly changing the subject, but also the way he seemed to stay inconsistent about his relationship to the victim. Not only had he first stated that the victim had been his best friend, but then he had stepped back, claiming that they were at most acquaintances.

“’Kay? Might just be that he first answered in the way that he thought he should, and then the second time realised the guy’s dead and it doesn’t matter?” Anderson asked as Connor stopped speaking, his expression unreadable. Why that question in particular, he did not quite understand, but regardless he replied effortlessly.

“First time was right after the discovery of the body when the officers first delivered the information of the victim’s death” Connor began, the nervousness gone from his voice and replaced with a much stronger one, a voice he had not spoken in for so long. “The officers reported that the roommate started to cry, not believing that the victim could be dead and then exclaiming that he was his best friend. That reaction in itself seems honest enough, but it is difficult to know without seeing the roommate myself. Now, second time he is asked about the relationship between them, he said that they were at most acquaintances. When asked why he changed his statement, he said that he was shocked that someone he knew had been attacked in that way. He had been confused, he meant. This, to me, sounds like an excuse, a way to downscale”

Anderson nodded slightly from his position behind the wheel, and then once again shrugged, an almost playful glint in his eyes. “Let’s hope for your sake that’s true then” he said, and Connor could swear he saw a smirk, something that made him feel weak for a reason he did not want to know.

“Anyway, I guess you know the basics, but Imma go through them real fast anyway” the man then said, the glint in his eyes gone and replaced with a seriousness Connor felt himself admiring. “We’re dealing with a serial killer. His victims are brown haired men in the ages of 20 to 40 and they’re all killed by multiple stab wound across the entire body. The eyes are gauged out antemortem, and the body found at random places. First victim’s name's Benjamin Powell, a 28-year-old man woho worked as a waiter at a restaurant close to his apartment. Disappeared when heading home from work, reappeared dead at the docks four days after. Forensics say the stab wounds happened at different times across this period and that the victim was alive until the fourth day. The mortal wounds were the last stabs to the chest and the final one through the heart where the murderer left the weapon. Weapon’s a newly bought knife from a general store close to the victim’s place of work”

As the Lieutenant stopped talking, he stopped the car at the side of a large apartment complex, the outside wared down by years of harsh weather and neglect. It was in a slightly worse side of town where the buildings looked mostly alike, all in different levels of neglect. With the snow that had started to fall in a thin layer upon the streets, the neighbourhood brought a heaviness to Connor’s heart, his breath stuck slightly in his throat. Yet, he ignored it, and followed Anderson as they finally made their way out from the car. Connor could not help the fear that grew within him, the resemblance this all had to things that still made him ache, made him terrified. But there was no way he would give up this chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!  
This work still means a lot to me due to the fact that it's my first ever that I've finished in this way.  
Anyway, we're finally getting into some investigation next chapter and I hope the case itself will be intriguing, although it's not the main focus!  
All comments and kudos are appreciated af <3
> 
> Next chapter is "A Question" and I'll upload it the 20th!


	5. A Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days early wubwub!

**Hank**

If he was honest with himself, Hank did not quite know why he had taken the idea that Connor left on that stupidly green post-it and run with it. Now, standing outside the apartment, he was unsure that it was a good idea to let someone he just got to know into such an important investigation. Yet, as he eyed the younger man, saw the excitement in those eyes, the searching look upon his face and as he remembered the explanation he had been told, he did not regret it. There was something about Connor, something that made him want to help, but also made him want to listen. So, why not? What was the worst thing that could happen?

Without saying anything more after stepping out from the elevator, Hank knocked on the door he knew belonged to the victim. It did not take long before the door opened, and he met the eyes of a young man, not older than 25, whom looked upon them, scared. With long black haired that ran down his back in a French braid, his skin a warm olive, and his eyes a gentle hazel, the youth was objectively handsome without a doubt which in turn was a stark contrast against the fear he showed.

“DPD, we wanna ask you some questions regarding the murder of Benjamin Powell” Hank said with the ease of habit as he pulled out his batch, showing it to the youth on the other side of the door, trying his best not to let himself be affected by the obvious nervousness that he was shown. “I’m Lieutenant Anderson and this here is Officer Kelly”

As he spoke, he more than saw, he felt Connor twitch beside him and as he gave him a glance, he noticed that the kind smile upon his lips was warmer now than it had ever been. The warmth, the excitement, seeing it all on Connor somehow made Hank feel his heart hammering. Something about it all made him so uncertain, yet so warm. Feelings like these were dangerous, he knew, and before he could let himself explore their meaning more, he turned to the mission at hand. Doing that, he felt the warmth in his heart turn to ice.

“But I’ve already spoken to the police” the young man said, his eyes shooting back and forwards between the two of them. “I told them all I know”

“We are well aware of that Sir, but we need to go over it once again, if you do not mind” Connor spoke before Hank could open his mouth, and this time he properly looked over at the other, seeing the way his smile seemed to evoke such trust. If Hank was honest with himself, he could not help but be slightly impressed.

The young man eventually nodded, before he opened the door and let the two of them into the rather small apartment. Stepping into the shared living room and kitchen, Hank once again got reminded of how young these victims were. Here, he saw some posters from sort of show, various painting presumably from friends, and a clutter on the general surfaces with everything from paper to just some decorative objects. The air was filled with the smell of some sort of cleaning spray, and it was rather neat despite the clutter. Sam, as the roommate was called, lead them towards a smaller kitchen table by one of the two windows in the room.

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” Sam asked to which Connor politely declined which Hank himself did as well. They were not going to stay that long after all.

“May I call you Sam, then?” Connor asked as they were finally seated, Connor and Hank on one side of the table while Sam occupied the other, still eying them nervously as he nodded briefly. “Well, Sam, can you remind us what your relationship with Mr. Powell was?”

“We… We were friends, I guess” Sam replied, but as he did, he folded his arms across his chest and his eyes sought the relief of the sky outside where the snow was still falling. “At least we lived together, so we kinda had to be”

“You say that now, yes, but when the officers first asked you, you said that Mr. Powell was your best friend. Is that correct?” Connor continued asking, and Hank found himself simply watching. There was something new about Connor that he had not quite noticed before. When Connor was working at the bar, he was always smiling so kindly, always trying to do his outmost so every single regular felt that they had gotten an equal amount of attention. He always knew what to say, and when to say it. But, here, now, there was something new in the way he spoke, in the way his eyes kept looking deep into Sam’s, regardless of the fact that Sam did not seek to meet his gaze. Without a doubt, Connor was reading the young man’s expression, seeing for any small little detail that might surface in a similar fashion to his ways in the bar. Hank, on the other hand, found himself slightly powerless beneath those clever, brown eyes. It was a new feeling, without a doubt.

“Yeah, but it was just ‘cuz I got it mixed up” Sam replied, his eyes once again meeting Connor’s before quickly looking away again. “I got so shocked, I guess, I got confused”

“That is indeed very interesting, but a lie, is it not?” This time, Connor leaned forwards as he spoke, his hands clasped before him on the table. Sam seemed to shrink beneath his gaze once again, his eyes flashing between the window and the brown eyes before him. “It is said that the first reaction is the truest one. Your correction did not come until much later, so the question is why you chose to lie”

Sam visibly swallowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but before he did, Connor interrupted him. “There are two major possibilities as to the reason for your lie. Firstly, you might want to protect someone with your lie. Perhaps, your information is damaging to them” by now, Connor’s voice had grown colder, more accusing, and Hank watched in amusement as his heart hammered softly. “Secondly, and this one seems most likely, you are lying to protect yourself. Now this, this is something us detectives want to jump at straight away. Lying to protect yourself means guilt, and guilt means that you are worthy of suspicion. Now, do you wish to be one of the murder suspects?”

“What--? No, that’s not—”

“Then you should tell the truth” Connor quickly retorted, the kindness back in his voice, but the accusation still stayed in his oh, so beautiful eyes. “Whoever you are trying to protect, it might lead to many more deaths. If you keep lying, those deaths will be on you. So, are you ready to speak the truth?”

It was as if every time Connor changed his mood, changed the way he spoke, all of him changed. He went from rigid accusations, to a softer understanding, his shoulders no longer squared but slightly slumped, his hands open on the table instead of closed. This was truly the act of a skilled interrogator, someone who knew where to push, and when to calm. For Hank watching, knowing the tactics of interrogation, it was almost enchanting, and he found himself looking at Connor more than Sam, his heart fluttering in his chest. _Fuck_…

Quickly, Hank turned his attention from the man beside him to Sam, his heart hammering steadily heavier. There was no way, no way at all this could be true. They had only known each other for a couple of weeks, not more. Feeling his heart calm down slightly, he tried to convince himself that it was nothing. Nothing. All it was, was his experience as an interrogator being surprised at the skills of another, nothing more.

Once his eyes met Sam’s, he could see the break. Before them, Sam slowly started to shiver, before he broke down crying, large tears rolling down his soft cheeks, his mouth twisted into an expression of pain, of sorrow. _Hell, the kid did it_. No one had thought to question the roommate properly due to his solid alibi so he had been so easily overlooked. Connor on the other hand, had seen that something was wrong.

“You’re right… You’re right…” he cried, his hands going up to his face to wipe the tears that kept rolling down. “He—He was my best friend. We were real close and I fucking loved that guy. We’d talk about everything. When he met a cute boy or a girl, he’d tell me as I’d tell him if I met someone. Whenever shit got difficult, he was there for me as I were for him. Fuck, I’d even call us brothers at heart! But… But…”

As Sam fell into silence, Connor quickly picked up the thread, now gently pushing in just the right way. “Sam, I know this is difficult for you, but we really need to know everything that you know” he said, voice as smooth as honey and so gentle it made even Hank feel slightly at ease despite his turbulent heart. “What happened to Ben was a tragedy, and it sucks, but you can save someone like him. You can save someone else’s brother”

Sniffling and still crying, Sam finally met Connor’s eyes, and Hank could see the desperation in them, the lies that he had kept for so many months. There was no doubt that Connor had been right, but how the fuck had he figured that out from just one inconsistency? Of course, Hank had seen it himself, but he had not thought much of it. Too many other bodies, too many other friends and other victims that he had failed to think of the importance of the first.

“I lied to protect Ben, ‘kay? I know he was occasionally into some shit, hell, who isn’t? But the way he spoke about it was too panicked to be a little thing, y’know? He told me that no one should ever find out about it. Not even I. He said that if someone came and found it, I had to take it from them, make sure no one read” Sam spoke in a voice low, weak, and his hands were nervously rubbing his forearms. “After he—after he died… I found the book. I didn’t read it! But I can’t break such an important promise… So, please don’t think less of him… He was a great guy, and I know he tried hard to be better”

“What is done is done, but you still have a chance to help, Sam” Connor said, gently placing a hand on Sam’s arm, making the other look up at him in surprise, yet it seemed as if he relaxed slightly. As his shoulders dropped and his eyes once again averted to the grey skies outside, it seemed as if he was stuck in thought. Hank himself, could not help his own mind from wandering slightly, the frustration returning to his veins, making him tap his foot against the floor.

Suddenly, he felt a hand placed so gently on his tapping leg. In pure shock, he stopped, his eyes fixed on the gentle hand that was a stark contrast to his worn jeans. A shiver shot through him, barely contained, as the skin beneath the hand seemed to warm up, tingling just slightly. _What the fuck?_ An anger wanted to blossom up within him, break through him like an explosion, taking it out on Connor for daring to try to calm him down. And yet, he did nothing. The anger faded. All that was left was the warmth, and a deep conviction in his heart that he was heading down a hole he could never get out of.

What finally managed to break Hank’s steadily darker thoughts, was the removal of the hand, and the sound of a chair, scraping against the floor. Sam had stood up, a strength returning as he wiped the last remnants of his tears. Without a word, he headed into one of the doors in the living room that probably lead to a bedroom. When the door closed behind Sam, Connor turned towards Hank, but Hank could not meet his eyes. There was no way he could look into those brown eyes, no way he could let himself. Not now.

“Seems it was worth going here anyway” Connor said, and Hank could swear he once again heard the shiver in the younger man’s voice, heard the uncertainty, the unasked question of whether he had done something wrong. Guilt welled up within Hank as he heard it, knowing that his frown was the cause of it, his inability to look at him for some reason causing insecurity.

“We’ll see about that” Hank huffed out; his arms folded across his chest. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, maybe inviting Connor had been the last nail in his coffin. Either way, he could not think of it further as Sam returned, holding a worn-out leather notebook in his hands.

Both of them rose to their feet to meet the youth, Connor pleasantly smiling, Hank cold, distant. However Hank might have acted, he knew that Sam had all his attention on Connor, and the safety that the warmth of his smile brought. Fuck, Hank suddenly felt himself jealous of it.

“Here” Sam said as he handed the notebook to Connor, his hands visibly shaking by the action. “I hope it will help”

“That it will most definitely” Connor responded, the excited shine back in his eyes, the calculating interest ever present as he seemed to read the book just by its cover. “Thank you so much for your cooperation”

Soon after, Hank and Connor found themselves back in Hank’s old Ford, the silence almost defeaning. Snow fell and melted on the windshield, running down in gentle streams that Hank watched, trying to gather his own whirring thoughts. Indeed, they had succeeded in what they came to do, but Hank feared that taking the step he had, he opened the door to more than he could handle. Besides that, he felt useless. Absolutely useless. He had worked on this case for months without a clue, without shit, and here came handsome young Connor, getting a proper lead on his first try. In a way, his own inaptitude was horrifying, yet numbing.

“Why did you quit being a cop?” he found himself blurting out as the silence in the car intensified, growing defeaning to his mind and heart. Needing to break it, he could not help but ask the question he had had in his head during the entire interrogation.

A gentle, yet tense chuckle escaped the man beside him, and Hank looked over, frowning. Connor was staring down at his hands, the glint of excitement in his eyes gone, and instead the vacancy seemed to threaten him, stand right on the threshold of reality. The sight brought a lump to Hank’s throat.

“Is that not a very personal question?” Connor said, his voice small and so different from the one he had shown upstairs, the one that had brought forth the notebook.

“Duh”

“I…” A heavy sigh escaped the younger man, his shoulders sloping further, and Hank’s guilt grew as he watched it, knowing that it was his fault. “Could we talk about it another time?”

_Fuck_. There was obviously something there, something important just beneath the surface that Hank could not quite reach. Knowing it was there brought a new frustration along as well as a new, deeper worry. The worry settled in his stomach like a heavy rock, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous, heavy as all he could do was to look at Connor, see the broken expression of a man that should be enjoying life. Not this. It reminded him too much of himself.

“Fine” Hank eventually managed to sigh as he once again started the car, though this time his stubbornness seemed to have faltered. “Let’s get back to my place and take a look at that book, ey?”

All Hank got as a response was a slight nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely see Hank as a major "No, I don't like him or anything it's just eh... [insert dumb excuse]" hehe  
Anyway, reading through this fic for the millionth time, I keep seeing the inconsistencies and OOC moments, but fuck I'm trying not to think about it 'cuz damn then I'll just feel bad ^^"   
Just trying to feel proud about the fact that I finished it at least!
> 
> Comments and kudos are still super appreciated (and needed hehe)! <3   
Please talk to me about these dorks over at tumblr (@yeahmerule)  
Next chapter is "A Step Closer" and I'll release it in a week! c: Or more correctly: probably sooner ;)


	6. A Step Closer

**Connor**

Had that really happened? Had he actually been given the permission to work with the Lieutenant? It was all so unbelievable, yet wonderful, that Connor once again took out his coin, letting it flick from hand to hand. Had he done right? Those were questions that he knew he did not have the time to answer at the moment, and yet those thoughts remained, swirling within him as he looked down upon the notebook that laid open on the kitchen table. They had been working tirelessly for few days now, always meeting up at Anderson’s place to go through the journal, trying to match it with what they already had. Connor could not deny that he enjoyed it, despite the constant guilt of the thought that Mr. Collins was dealing with the bar alone. Yet, at the moment, Sumo slept by his feet and on the other side of the table, with his cheek rested on the table, slept Anderson. It was really a cute sight, Connor thought distantly, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips.

Warmth filled him for a moment, making the harsh worry deep within him soften just slightly as if melted by the safety of his situation. Since he had last been in in Anderson’s house, not much had changed other than a couple of new takeout boxes alongside some new empty bottles of beer had appeared, most of them produced while they had been working. Of course, it worried him greatly to see Anderson drink so casually every day, yet again, the worry did not seem to take over like it usually did. Instead, the soft, heavy breathing of the two others put his mind at ease like nothing had ever done before. Perhaps, it was just Sumo’s calming presence, but Connor had the feeling that there was something else, something just within his grasp, yet so far away.

Regardless, he knew he had to break out of his trains of thoughts, and instead he once again focused on the notebook. What first had looked like any used book, common among university students, turned out to be filled to the brim with nothing else, but extreme hatred. From the very first page, it was written like a diary with a date in the top left corner, and the musings of someone with nothing but cold revenge on his mind. It simply began with wishes to kill Benjamin Powell and other ways of torturing him, of making sure that he suffered like he had made the writer suffer himself alongside accusations of crimes Benjamin had committed. It did not come clear just what Benjamin had done specifically to the writer until deep into the journal, when there were just a couple of pages left. Judging by the dates, it was approximately half a year since the first entry, and it was the first sign they had found that truly pointed to the fact that the writer was the murderer they were chasing. It began at about a year ago, exactly the 5th of November, around the time of Benjamin’s death.

“_I saw your ugly mug again today. You were still working at that dumbass restaurant. I saw you smile so big and fake at all the people. Was it that fake smile that made them all choose you instead of me? Fuck you. Fuck her. I can’t let you have this control over me. I keep following you but I see you everywhere. I see assholes with the same stupid hair and the same stupid fake eyes. I know you guys are all the same. You all just take and take and take and TAKE AND TAKE AND TAKE._

_I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE. You took Maya away from me. You knew she was the love of my life and you just took her. You told her lies and you made her hate me. It’s all YOUR FAULT. If it weren’t for you, I would have her. She would be mine. Only mine. But you destroyed her. Made her impure. She was mine and you took her.   
_

_I have a plan. I know where you live, where you work, where you eat. I know who your friends are and your enemies are and your secrets. I know everything. I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna cut away those eyes. I’m gonna make you bleed. Scream. Those eyes that everyone fucking loves will be punctured, running down your face like raw egg. You took away what is mine. You always take what is mine. Now, I’m gonna make you suffer. Wait and see. If you dare telling the police, I will tell them all your secrets. You know I have proof. Wait for me. I’ll be the one in control and you will get what you deserve_”

Nothing was really out of the ordinary. Connor had seen similar letters before in his career; people who felt as if the world owed them everything, and blamed it all on one singular person, fixated on whatever they had. It seemed as if the murderer killed Benjamin but did not feel as if it was enough. Instead, he had continued killing all those similar to him, focusing on the eyes and the hair. Perhaps, after killing Benjamin, the murdered had found pleasure in the power of it and continued seeing Benjamin’s face everywhere.

With all of that in mind, they were looking for someone around Benjamin’s age, that being between the ages of 20 and 30, whom Benjamin knew. This person is either a student, or unemployed judging by the choice of notebook as well as the apparent amount of free time they had, which they in turn used to stalk their victims. Which lead Connor to his second point: the murderer stalked the victim for a long period of time before striking. The time that he spent stalking had apparently decreased, which was a worrying, yet common sign for a serial killer, narcissistic as they tend to be. Six months went before he killed his first victim (Benjamin) that was found at the docks. 5 months was the second victim, found at a parking lot. 4 months was the third victim found in an alley, 2 months the fourth found in the victim’s own apartment. All killed in the same way. Eyes gauged out, body covered in stab wounds and knife, dug straight into the heart. Now, time was truly of the essence. At any time, another victim might appear.

Despite the pressure Connor found himself under, he realised that this was the first time in such a long time, that he felt himself fully focused on something. Usually, even at work, he found himself go on like a robot, doing this, saying that, all automatically with his mind elsewhere, always. The more he got used to the regulars at The Corner, the more he felt himself drift away, keenly aware of the fact that he still said the right things, still smiled. Guilt always filled him whenever he realised how little he was present when he talked to people, how easy they seemed to drift out of his mind, and out of his life. The only exception had been the Lieutenant. Not only had nothing worked on him, but Connor still had the deep wish to make him proud, to be liked by the other man. So, when he was invited to join the investigation as if out of the blue, illegal as though it might be, he was more than delighted. Not that he could understand why.

Suddenly, he was stricken by an idea. Without a word, he hurried up and headed over to Anderson’s computer, hoping that he was allowed to use it. Luckily for him, it seemed as Anderson had not bothered to enter a password at his own home computer. It did not take him long to find Benjamin’s social media accounts, and he began to scroll, looking from picture to picture. Quite a while later, after scrolling through a wall of condolences and even further through memories (_thank you, whoever it is, who decided to make Benjamin’s account fully public!), _he found what he had been looking for. If it weren’t for the journal of threats and hatred, there was no way they would ever have thought a simple profile picture could be enough. He had found Maya. Apparently, her full maiden name was Maya Livingston, now Maya Boyle, and she was quite beautiful. After some more clicking, he managed to find another account of hers, but seemed to run into a wall there. After finding multiple pictures of Benjamin and Maya together, it was beyond frustrating to find nothing about any other ex. Clearly, Benjamin was the only ex she acknowledged.

“Fuck…” he could not help, but hiss between his teeth.

“Seems I’m rubbing off on you” a small, dark chuckle came from behind him, bringing small, yet warm shivers up his back in a way that was definitely not unpleasant. The voice was gruff, clearly still sleepy, and Connor felt his blush returning full force more as a reaction to his own body, than to the words that had been said.

“Perhaps” he managed to croak out, aware of how embarrassed he was, "Or I've just always been foul mouthed". His reply was merely met by a chuckle.

“Found anything?” Anderson continued, and this time Connor managed to turn around on the chair to face him, knowing all too well that his cheeks still glowed red in the soft light from the computer screen. For a moment, Anderson looked upon him with an almost warm expression.

“Yes, indeed I have” having been asked for something he was sure of, his strength returned, and he found it easier to speak once he began. “I really hope it was okay for me to use your computer for a moment, but I think I have found the identity of the girl the suspect blamed Benjamin from stealing. If we can interrogate her, I am sure we will find our guy in no time”

As he finished speaking, Anderson rose to his feet, and headed over to where Connor was sitting, his eyes upon the screen that still showed a selfie of Benjamin and Maya, happily smiling. Leaning in to get a closer look, Connor could suddenly smell the man. It was an almost earthy smell as the smell of dog mixed rather pleasantly with that of the man’s cologne and shampoo. For once, the smell of alcohol was barely present, and instead there was something else, something that was undoubtedly just Hank’s scent. Another shiver shot through Connor’s already warm body.

“With your permission, Lieutenant, I would like to interrogate her as soon as possible” he found himself saying, a tension in his voice that he could only blame the warm shiver for.

Above him, Anderson sighed heavily, and Connor felt his warm breath against his skin, the shiver intensifying to a tingle that remained, constantly pulsating through him. _Oh, no_…

“Stop calling me Lieutenant and Anderson all the God damn time” the older man said as he straightened his back, leaving Connor feeling cold and impatient. “It’s Hank, damnit. Anyway, we can’t do shit until tomorrow anyway, and it’s damn late, so I think it’s better if we try to catch some sleep. We can’t keep pulling all-nighters” he chuckled again, “I’m an old man that needs sleep”

Hank. Calling someone by their first name should never have the reaction it had on Connor, but he felt it regardless. His heart seemed to swell, beating heavily against his ribcage, and he wondered if Hank could hear it, as close as he was. In a way that he could not explain, he wished he could hear it.

“I’ll head to my apartment then” he said, his mind filling with a hundred things he would rather say, and a hundred more reasons for him wanting to stay. Going back to his apartment seemed terrifying, a too strong contrast between the warmth and safety that he currently felt. Going back to emptiness, to staring until he could see the sun rise, it was a thought that made his stomach churn.

“Nah, if you’re not picky, you’re welcome to use the couch” Hank said, shrugging slightly. “You’ve been here so much lately, so you might as well. Besides, we can get up and going faster. You’re real damn slow in the morning, y’know”

Connor forced himself to chuckle slightly as he smiled almost sheepishly, feeling his body tingle, his stomach now filled with butterflies. “You’re probably right” he said, trying his best to not let it show how truly happy such a small suggestion made him. “I will take you up on that offer, then! Thank you!”

Hank merely huffed with yet another shrug as he turned around to head towards the bedroom, a happy, but sleepy Sumo in tow. “’s nothing” he said, but to Connor, it was the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway now, wubwub!   
Progress is made in the case and in some other things as well c: I swear, these dorks are killing me <3
> 
> Thank you so much for the kind comments and the kudos!! <3  
It means the world to me and really makes my day!!  
Next chapter will be out latest in a week so be ready for "An Answer"!~


	7. An Answer

**Hank**

Things were difficult, to say the least. The time of the anniversary was getting closer, and he felt it in his very bones, the way it made his mind turn to darkness as soon as there was nothing else on it. Everything seemed to remind him of Cole. The weather, a random kid on the street, driving his car. Cole was everywhere, the empty space he had left behind a glaring hole that kept reminding Hank that it was all his fault, all his fault. Yet, despite the need for the blackness of being absolutely wasted, he found himself fairly alright with just the buzz through his veins. Perhaps, it was the fact that he was constantly distracted by the case, or maybe it was Connor. Not that he would ever admit to himself that it was the stupid bartender whom seemed to fill a hole he did not know that he wanted filled.

When he woke up the morning after he has suggested to Connor that he should stay the night, he found the younger man sleeping on the couch. The blanket had fallen to the ground, and his usually flawless hair was a mess against the white pillow. Usually, Connor had a perfect posture with a straight back and square shoulders, but during the night, Sumo had somehow managed to squeeze himself into the couch, leaving Connor with no other option but to curl into a ball. Seeing him like that, seeing him in a t-shirt he got to borrow, and with Sumo, it made something warm stir in Hank’s chest.

_Fucking unbelievable, this idiot was_, he thought as he simply stood there, watching the two sleep so calmly. Not only was he surprised at the fact that he had woken up earlier than Connor (_he should probably blame his nap for that_), but there was something so tender about the way Connor slept. Now, there was no longer that constant, fearful look in his eyes. He looked simply at peace.

After catching himself staring for a bit too long, his cheeks flushed by a slight embarrassment, he headed to the kitchen and started to make coffee instead. By the time it was done, the aroma had woken up Sumo, whom happily padded over to him, excited for food, but also Connor. As Hank was pouring the regular dog food into Sumo’s bowl, he saw Connor sit up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Good morning, Lieu--… Hank” Connor said with a smile, his voice slightly deeper, a rasp to it that made Hank feel somewhat breathless. In general, that messy hair, the large oversized t-shirt, the way those brown eyes shined, it all made Hank feel weak. Yet, it terrified him.

“’Morning” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter as he started to sip it. Holding onto the warm mug seemed like his only lifeline, his only way to keep himself from staring. There was no way he could deny what this was, and yet he did it anyway. After all, he was an old man, he was not supposed to feel all these things. He was no teenager anymore, and that ridiculousness should be long gone.

Soon, Connor joined him in the kitchen, wearing nothing but the oversized t-shirt and his briefs. _Fuck_, was all Hank could think as he kept staring into his mug of coffee, trying his best not to see the way those slim legs looked so soft, yet so strong. He tried to not watch the muscles work beneath the skin, telling him that Connor was most definitely a lot stronger than he looked, and he tried not to look at the way his ass curved. _Bubble butt_. **_Shut up, old man!_** Yet, he did also briefly notice some scars running up his left leg and along his right calf.

“Er… Hank” Connor’s voice interrupted Hanks almost manic thoughts, and he found himself finally able to look into those brown eyes, one eyebrow slightly raised. For a moment, he admired his own ability to pretend that everything was fine despite the way his heart seemed to be everywhere else than where it was supposed to be.

“Yeah?” Hank found himself responding, slightly curious at Connor’s sudden serious expression, the way the tension had returned to his shoulders.

“You asked me earlier why I quit my job as a detective” Connor began as he took out a mug from one of the cabinets and filled it with coffee, a slight tremble to his hands. “The reason is complicated, but the main reason is that something happened. I came to realise that my department, or more, the entire precinct, was killing me, in a way. It is very difficult for me to speak about this, so I will summarize it to the best of my ability”

The younger man paused to take a sip of his coffee; his eyes vacant once more while Hank waited with bated breath. “You see, I was a part of one of the nation’s most successful homicide departments. We were known to solve almost 75% of the cases we received, and thus we were given nothing, but the most important. I got in due to my great grades and skills, which I say not to brag, but to explain myself” while Connor was talking, Hank found himself almost speechless at the darkness he saw, the fear still playing in the younger man’s beautiful eyes. Whatever troubled him weighed him down, brought pain to him that Hank felt as well now that he listened to the honest words he was told.

“I thought it was an honour to be there” Connor’s voice grew slightly weaker as he spoke, the determination he showed earlier trembling, making him shiver slightly. “The head of my department, our Captain, is a woman named Amanda Stern. She is strong, and she always pushes in a way that made us all as productive as we could possibly be. Our motto was ‘Mission first’. Always mission first. Being new in this environment, well, it formed me in more ways than one. I owe them all that I am today, and yet I can’t--… I can’t help but feel guilty for talking badly about them, especially Captain Stern. Anyway, some… things… happened. Er… I…”

Connor fell into a tense silence, and Hank felt his heart ache. How old was this kid? Before he could think about it any further, Connor began speaking once more, his voice still tense, weak.

“I was 25 when I first got to start being a detective. I was one of the youngest to ever had been given that job, and I was pushed harder than anyone because of it. Captain Stern wanted me to be the front man, the proof of how her precinct and department was the very top notch in all the nation. I did well for a couple of years, I satisfied everyone to the best of my ability with the knowledge I had. I was perfect to them, but it was too much. Life was too much. Everything was. I was weak, I guess” Connor’s hands were visibly shaking now as his knuckles whitened by the harshness of which he held his cup. Hank swallowed heavily, the worry now a heavy stone in his stomach.

“One day, I was sent out on a mission to be a negotiator. Some caretaker of a rich family had snapped, apparently, taking the child hostage and killing the parents. He kept screaming that they were going to replace him, that he meant nothing, and that he was going to kill himself and the little girl. I was supposed to defuse the situation, and at any cost save the child. Mission first and all that. But when I stood there on the roof top. I…” the younger man let out a shivery breath his eyes tightly closed. “I can’t talk about it, sorry… But I failed. That’s all I can say for now. I hope it’s okay…”

Speechless, all Hank found himself able to do, was to place a hand on Connor’s tense, shivering shoulder. With all the warmth he could gather, he tried to rub it slightly, having no idea whatsoever what he could say or do. For the billionth time he cursed himself for being so socially awkward, and he frowned, worry clearly shown in his face.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor” he said, trying to sound gentle, but he knew his voice always came out a bit rougher than necessary. “That is more than enough. Er… Thanks for telling me. I appreciate the trust you’ve shown me and all that. Just, eh, remember that you’re not there anymore, ‘kay? Y’know here it’s not mission first? If we solve the case that’s great and all, but we won’t go to extreme measures to do so. We want our detectives alive, right? Trust has proven to increase productivity yadda, yadda, I never listened much to that meeting”

As he paused, Connor’s eyes had finally returned a bit to themselves, and Hank saw the fear in them, the intense worry that Connor most probably used to hide beneath layers upon layers of control. That strength, Hank could not help but admire.

“You’re a great detective, Connor” he began again, and tried to smile softly. “Without you, we would not have found Maya, nor the damn journal and I’d be without a job”

_And dead_, he almost added, but shut his mouth quickly before he continued. “I bet Jeffrey, my Captain, would hire you if you’re interested. You’re better than most assholes in my department, and I’d gladly get rid of Reed myself if that would help. Just try to breathe, okay?”

Suddenly, Hank felt two arms wrap around him, a warm face buried into the side of his neck. Taken completely by surprise, all he could do was to put down his own cup on the counter, and gently return the breath-taking hug he was given. His heart hammered widely in his chest as he felt the tickle of Connor’s eyelashes against his neck, and the gentle softness of his lips that occasionally brushed against him, shivering as they were. Warmth filled him fully as the arms that held him, held with such intensity that it almost reminded Hank of a man holding onto anything to prevent himself frown drowning. Scared to ruin the moment, all he could do was to gently rub his back, his breaths shallow, while Connor shivered against him. After a while, he felt Connor relax more, and then they broke apart. The coldness that rushed in once he no longer felt the other so close, was numbing.

“Sorry” Connor ended up saying, though the shiver in his voice was gone, and he seemed to have gathered himself. All Hank could feel was as if Connor had torn a piece of him off as he moved away, leaving him a wreck.

“Don’t sweat it” he mumbled, before turning away, heading towards the bathroom. “Anyway! Make ready or something so we can leave and catch ourselves a killer, Detective Kelly. Can’t wait here forever”

* * *

Surprisingly soon, the two of them found themselves in the car, heading over to Maya’s house which was out in the outskirts of the large city. After Hank had been done in the shower, he found Connor cooking in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast for the two of them, claiming that it was as a thank you for letting him stay over. They had eaten, and Hank hated admitting that the food had been delicious, and then Connor had spent his time making ready while Hank watched television, a beer in hand. Now as they sat in the car, Hank could not help but notice the hair on Connor’s head that was usually perfectly groomed, now had multiple curls that always seemed to want to escape. Seeing Connor constantly trying to brush them into place before some of them fell back into his forehead, made Hank’s heart flutter.

“Stop fussing, damnit” Hank said as they finally drove into the driveway of a small, but neat, white house. While Hank’s house was practically falling apart, and many houses in the neighbourhood in an even worse condition, this house was the complete opposite. Perfect hedges surrounded a crisp white house. The trees in the garden were well kept, and there were no leaves hiding beneath the snow, clearly taken away long before the first frost settled. Seeing it, and its perfection, soured Hank’s mood truly, feeling as grey as the clouds above. Yet, as they stepped out of the car, Connor finally without pushing that adorable bit of hair away, he tried to hide away his sourness. After all, here they could get the final clue that would lead them to the killer.

The woman that opened the door, and the women they had spoken to on the phone, was as well-kept as the house in which she lived. Wearing a simple, soft pink dress and her blond hair hanging loose over her shoulders, she was still as beautiful now as the pictures Connor had shown him earlier the same night. As he glanced over at the younger man, he could tell that he thought the same, which made his heart ache as if stabbed. Stop being ridiculous, he tried to tell himself as he instead spoke.

“Mrs. Boyle? I’m Lieutenant Anderson and this is Officer Kelly from the DPD, we were the one calling you about Benjamin Powell” he began, and the woman nodded, glancing back and forwards between the two men.

“Yes, please come in” she said, and stepped aside, inviting them into the building. As soon as they stepped inside, Hank was convinced that this was not a real place. Each surface seemed freshly dusted; each decoration perfectly fitted with the colours of the room in a way that plainly reminded him of a furniture catalogue. Seeing it made him want to vomit, and yet he followed the women into the living-room, where she gestured for them to take a seat on the couch before she sat down herself. Her entire posture was tense, almost as perfectly straight as Connor’s tended to be, and her hands were gently placed on her lap. Behind her on the wall hung an expensive looking television, accompanied by even more expensive looking speakers.

“If it is not too much of an issue, I would very much appreciate it if we are done as soon as possible” Maya said, her voice bright despite the tension she clearly showed. “I have some errands to run before my husband gets back”

As Connor began talking to the woman, Hank came to realise something. Hearing the other man talk, asking the basic questions about her current vocation, her husband, and whether she had any children, everything was floating on without any hiccups. Sometimes, Hank would interject, asking more about the specifics while Connor sat back, listening close to what was being said. If Hank did not know better, he would say they made a good team. The thought made a fear grasp his hammering heart, twist it painfully as he wondered how he could have possibly gotten himself into this situation, head over heels for someone so much younger than himself. _Don’t think about it_, he tried to tell himself, but the voice that said it was weak, nothing in comparison to the growing tenderness he felt towards the man beside him. _Fuck_.

“Now, Mrs. Boyle, what was your relationship to Mr. Powell?” Connor finally asked, and Hank forced himself to listen despite his throat itching for the burn of whiskey, his hands shivering slightly as he felt the all too familiar nausea.

“Benjamin… Or Ben, as everyone called him” the woman smiled fondly, a sweet memory bringing warmth into her green eyes. “He was my first love, such to say. You know, the kind of pure love when you finally understand what all those silly romance books talk about? That was how he made me feel. Giddy, love-struck, and so wonderfully loved”

A sadness entered her eyes at the mention of someone so dear to her still, and Hank saw how Connor’s expression softened, making him look more welcoming than the casual expression he wore during the earlier part of the interrogation.

“When was this?” Connor asked, a notebook in hand as he scribbled down some information. Curious, Hank wished to see what he wrote, but he stayed in his position, knowing that looking over would distract Maya from the matter at hand.

“Well, some would call it late, but it was the first year of college. I was 17 and he was 18. We first met during the introduction week, and since we had many classes together, both of us focusing on economics, we kinda stuck together” she continued, the rather sad smile once again upon her lips. “We grew closer, but we didn’t get together until the second year. He told me that he had wanted to ask me out way earlier, but he was scared to lose a friend. He was adorable”

Once again, Connor scribbled something down before he smiled at her again, something close to concern in his eyes. “Was your relationship good, such to say? Did you run into any issues?” he asked, ready with his pen to write down the answer.

“Well…” Maya started, her smile now gone, and a frown on her forehead, her eyes turned down to look at her hands. “Everything was all good in the beginning, but when we started our third year, I noticed that Ben’s grades were dropping. He couldn’t really keep up, and things were getting more expensive. I don’t know what he did, really, but I know he got some money eventually. He was changed after that, though. He was still as sweet as ever, but he didn’t care about college anymore. I did. So, we kinda broke up after graduation. He didn’t really finish his degree, but he waited until I graduated. Our break up was mutual, and we stayed friends for a while”

A frown had appeared on Connor’s forehead as well as he listened to her speak, and Hank felt himself frowning. This was not what they had expected. Of course, they knew that the reason for his behaviour had been his introduction to selling ADHD medicine to students and other drugs attractive to students that wished to stay concentrated for longer periods of time. All of it was written down in the journal that they found earlier, as well as other small drug related crimes alongside some more severe cases of violence and theft. None of these things lead them any closer to the identity of the journal writer.

“Did Ben have any friends at the time that he had a bad relationship with? Someone who he kept seeing during this period?” Hank found himself asking, and as he did, he could see Connor’s concentrated look at the woman before them.

For a moment, Maya look puzzled. The troubled look did not last for long, as she suddenly sighed deeply, her frown now clearly annoyed. Hank noticed the way her hands clutched each other tightly, almost as if she tried to hold on to her anger.

“Now that you mention it, I remember this one guy” she began, and a hint of hope blossomed in Hank’s chest. “I also met him during the introduction week because he kept following us around. We were a little gang with some other people as well, but he was just this kind of person that forced himself into it. I remember feeling creeped out by him because he kept finding me after I had a lecture, even though he had a completely other subject and then just kept following me, spending time with me even when I didn’t want it. When Ben and I became official, he just stopped out of nowhere. But Ben told me that he kept following him? Like, Ben would hang with his friends, and then he would be there just to sneak in a rude remark. I never understood why Ben kept having him around”

Hank could see the excitement within Connor now as well in the way his shoulders were less tense, his eyes brighter, clearer. Without a doubt, absolutely stunning. Again, he forced himself to swallow hard, swallow away those feelings that threatened to overwhelm him at any second. After all, how could he let himself? He was just a depressed alcoholic that was just alive because he had never gotten to actually go all out and kill himself. Instead, he killed himself slowly, drink by drink. How could a young, talented man such as Connor, want anything romantic to do with such a man? Darkness clouded his heart, and he looked away for a second, a brief idea flashing in his mind. It was a while ago since he played Russian Roulette despite his promise to himself. Perhaps, if he just helped Connor into the line of work he deserved as well as excelled at, maybe then he could finally do it? Then Jeff would not be mad at him for quitting his job, and Connor would have all the chances in the world to grow, to fall in love with someone worthy of his brilliance. The thought made him calm down, and he turned back to meet the woman’s eyes.

“What was his name?” he asked, the excitement of being so close finally settling into his bones.

“I think it was Melville?” she said, a thoughtful look in her eyes, “Melville Geier?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot chickens~ Finally getting into some stuff! Backstory and case!!  
Obviously, this fic strays quite a bit from canon, but I tried to work in game elements in it so that it is recognisable. Hopefully it's good!
> 
> Thank you so much once more for the kudos and the nice comments!! It helps to deal with university when I can just check in on this and see all the kudos :') It makes me very happy!  
Stay tuned for the next chapter; "A Long-Lasting Fall"


	8. A Long-Lasting Fall

**Connor**

Connor could not believe it. At last, they had a proper suspect, a man and a face to it that not only had the reason for wanting to murder Benjamin Powell, but the ability as well. Once they had gotten the name from Maya, they went back to Hank’s house and logged onto his computer to see if there were any with the name Melville Geier close enough to be able to commit the crime. As it turned out, there was; Melville Geier 24 years old and currently living in an apartment in Detroit. They had everything, including his address, some cases of minor theft and public nuisance. All they needed now, was to take him in.

Yet, there was something clouding what should be a moment of celebration, almost excitement as he stood in the hallway of Hank’s house, his winter coat in hand. Since they arrived back at Hank’s house, a darkness seemed to have settled in Hank, his usual behaviour suddenly gone and replaced with an echoing silence. As soon as they had arrived, he had poured himself a glass of whiskey, claiming that their discovery was worth celebrating. Connor had not commented on it and continued to not comment on it despite how Hank kept refilling his glass. By the time they had reached the conclusion that it would be better if Connor went to his own place for the night, Hank was clearly drunk. Instead of a positive, celebratory drunkenness, there was the quiet. 

“Erm… Hank?” he found himself asking before he could think about it any further, worry colouring his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

The older man merely snorted in return; his voice tainted with sarcasm as he spoke. “Yeah, sure, stay and take care of the old man, will ya?”

“You know that’s not what I meant” Connor began, the piercing worry making his own heart ache even more, the air once again too heavy to breathe. “I’m just worried, that’s all”

“For fuck’s sake, I can take care of myself” the older man raised his voice slightly, an anger entering his eyes. Sumo that was earlier sleeping on the couch, woke up, his eyes perked in the direction of his owner. “I’m a grown-ass man!”

Hearing the loudness of Hank’s voice made the growing pressure in his chest intensify until he felt it encompass him fully, his hands now visibly shivering as he held his coat desperately. There was something so horrifying with this situation, something that made him feel like he could not leave, not now, but he also knew that he could not push it further. Instead, he was left feeling the emptiness crawl back into his heart.

“I am not saying that I’m worried because I don’t think that you can take care of yourself” he ended up saying, his voice low, tender as he just wished to somehow convey how much he cared about Hank, how much his heart ached. They had not known each other for too long, but Connor felt an attachment he could not quite put into words. All he knew was that he felt so wonderfully safe whenever they spent time together. “I say it because I care, Hank… I might just be a bartender playing detective, but I really do care about you”

Outside raged a storm. The heavy winds made the windows shudder, feeling as if it rocked the entire house’s foundation, and Connor felt so cold, so cold. Tense air filled the room, and he could see in the way that Hank’s shoulders slumped, the way his eyes darted back and forwards. Uncertainty filled Connor, and he bit his lip, his thoughts still racing as the silence stretched on. Just say something, he begged himself, say something!

“Just leave” the voice that broke the silence was gruff, quiet and weaker than Connor had ever heard the man before. Usually, Hank always spoke with such a strength if it so was in a sarcastic comment or clever questions. Always strong. “I’ll see you later, Connor. We’ll catch the guy tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at your apartment”

With nothing else to do, but agree, Connor nodded as he finally slipped on his long coat. “See you tomorrow then” he said, before he left.

* * *

When the call came the following morning, it came as a slight surprise. Even at a reasonable time considering (_noon was pretty good for Hank_), Hank’s gruff voice told him that he would be at his house in 20 minutes. That Connor had spent the entire night in a state between sleep and intense paranoia, seemed almost ridiculous when the morning came with a new dawn, a new hope. During the night, when the air was at its heaviest and he felt himself curl into a tiny ball, trying to escape the pressure that seemed to surround him, wanting to pop him like a balloon, he found a slight comfort in thinking about Hank. Seeing the large man before him, his arms wide open, inviting, had helped his breathing in the slightest bit. Imagining the warmth of an embrace, the feeling of being completely surrounded with the scent of Hank that he had grown so accustomed to, it made his heart flutter in excitement instead of anxiety. This in turn made him realise how deep into the mess he actually was.

Around 4 A.M, he had woken up with a start with only one thought in mind. He was in love. He was most certainly, stupidly in love with Hank. Every time he tried to think of something, anything else, he found himself with the other in mind and the warmth in his chest, making butterflies flutter in his stomach. Yet, each and every time it happened, he found himself questioning it. How could he allow himself to fall this hard? After all, he was merely 31 years old, so much younger than the Lieutenant. How could Hank want him? A mess? A failure of a detective? As those thoughts swirled around him, he felt the lump in his throat grow larger, the pain intense as he felt the bitter tears roll down his cheeks in a flood. Who could ever love him whom at first sign of difficulty gave up?

After that, he could not go back to sleep again, and instead found himself once more playing with his coin, his eyes staring vacantly into the wall. Anything to occupy his mind, anything to fade the worries, the images of finding Hank dead in a ditch after drinking too much, or in a pool of his own vomit. In the end, he was close to fully breaking when the call finally came. Relief flooded him straight away, and yet the anxiety remained. How could he keep working with Hank when all he could think about was kissing him? Being held so close, so tenderly? Feeling loved by someone who cared about him?

When Hank arrived, Connor found himself not even close to done with making ready, and he instead invited the other into his apartment. It was a small apartment with just a bedroom, a kitchen and a toilet, the walls white and bare alongside the furniture. Since moving to Detroit, he had done absolutely nothing to his room, and now that Hank stepped into it, he realised how bad that actually looked. 

“Sorry for the mess” he found himself saying as he tried to pick some clothes up from the ground where he had previously dumped them in exhaustion as well as a collection of papers on his desk. In his small living area, he only had a writing desk with his laptop and notes, a closet where he kept his clothes, and his unkept, single bed. Embarrassment filled him as he quickly made sure to make the bed the best he could before he grabbed a new set of clothing.

“Considering you cleaned my house, I really thought you’d have it all neat and perfect” the older man teased, and Connor forced himself to chuckle a bit, a smile on his lips despite the horror in his mind.

“One would think!” he said quickly before he headed towards the shower, trying his hardest to shield his eyes from the other. “Anyway, make yourself at home and I will just quickly shower and do what I can. Sorry for the inconvenience”

“Don’t mention it” Hank replied, but Connor did not get the chance to see whether the man had noticed his discomfort at the comment, nor whether he was disgusted at the way he lived. Instead, he hid his notes the best he could beneath some other clothes before he headed into the shower.

After the “accident”, he had been forced into therapy due to the traumatic experience he had gone through, and his therapist had taught him to write when he felt that the thoughts would break his mind. When he first moved to Detroit he was still writing, still trying to gather his thoughts and vent out the troubles he experienced in the new place. It did not take long before he stopped. No longer than a couple of weeks into his residency, he found his motivation gone, and reading those old notes left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet, he did not have the guts to throw them out. Hopefully, Hank respected him enough not to read anything.

Once Connor finally got out of the shower, this time dressed in a black t-shirt and skinny jeans instead of his usual white shirt with dress pants, he had gathered his thoughts enough that he knew his smile was genuine. The pain of the previous night seemed gone, and he smiled at Hank, whom was sitting at his desk, back turned to the computer, a coin in his hands. When Connor stepped out, the older man was attempting the trick that Connor always used, and the one he liked the best, where he threw one coin with one hand to catch it between his long finger and index finger on the other. Hank did not quite have the nimbleness of Connor’s fingers, but he managed to catch the coin in his palm at least, before he turned to meet Connor’s eyes.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, right?” Connor said as he was still drying his hair with his towel, smiling softly.

Yet, as Hank looked at him, Connor could tell that there was something on his mind, something that troubled him greatly. The lump reappeared in Connor’s throat, but he still smiled, trying to look open rather than scared.

“Yeah, you make it look so damn easy, though” the Lieutenant responded before he put the coin back on the desk behind him. For a moment he paused, just looking out the window behind the desk, seeing the remnants of snow down below. After a while, he sighed.

“I don’t really know how to say this, but I figured I should still try” he began, his eyes still fixated on the ground outside. “You told me earlier about the deal with your old department, and er… I guess I have some shit of my own. You trusted me, so I guess I should give you the same”

While Hank was speaking, Connor sat down on his bed, his towel now held firmly in his hands as nervousness once again filled him to the brim. He knew that whatever he was being told, he should listen, he should make sure that each word was etched into his mind forever. Hank trusted him? The thought made him feel warm once again despite it all.

“About this time a couple of years ago I… I lost my son” the words came out pained, as if just speaking them reminded Hank of darkness, something Connor truly could relate to. “His name was Cole. He… He was only six years old and I--… The road was covered with ice, but I thought it was fine. I lost control and… Fuck… Cole needed surgery. He died because the damn surgeon was high. The idiot lost his doctor’s license, but that doesn’t—that doesn’t bring Cole back! Anyway… the anniversary is coming up, so I’m a bit fucked up about it. That’s why I’m like this…”

Before Hank had even finished talking, Connor threw his towel aside, his heart breaking at the pain he saw in Hank, the pain that was still so fresh, the wound that was still bleeding. Quickly, he made his way over and without really thinking, wrapped his arms around the man, hugging him close to his chest. There was no doubt that there was pride within Connor as he felt himself so glad that Hank had told him such a painful thing, yet the pain of what he was being told was greater than anything else. For a moment, he felt tears stinging his eyes as he gently rested his chin on the top of Hank’s head.

“Thank you for telling me” he ended up whispering and as he did, he felt Hank’s strong arms so gently surround him in the warmth that he had been craving for so long. “I appreciate it a lot”

More than anything, Connor felt the tears as Hank shivered in his arms, crying out his pain silently as Connor held him, his cheek resting against the top of his head. Small breaths kept escaping the older man, shivery and full of tears to the extent that tear broke free from Connor’s eyes as well, rolling down his cheeks so slowly.

“I miss him…” Hank cried, and Connor’s heart kept breaking over and over again. “So much”

They stayed like that for what felt like half an hour, both crying while Connor kept holding Hank close, trying to make sure that he felt like he had someone, that he was not alone with the pain that he had lived under for so long. When they finally broke apart Hank’s cheeks were red and puffy, but his eyes seemed clearer, as if the darkness from the night earlier had faded just slightly. Connor smiled at that as he gently wiped away a couple of stray tears from those red cheeks.

“Now I feel ridiculous” Hank ended up muttering after their eyes met for a brief second, before the other quickly turned away, leaving Connor feeling breathless, lost.

“You are ridiculous” Connor responded, humour in his soft, caring voice which was filled with the love that overwhelmed him, made his heart swell and ache in a way it never had before. It was almost dizzying. “Have you seen what you’re wearing?”

Scoffing, a mock surprise coloured Hank’s eyes with light as he looked down on the current, blue shirt with uneven black zebra stripes that he was wearing, looking so absolutely hilarious that Connor could not help but laugh softly.

“What’re you talking about? This shirt looks great!” despite the played offense Hank showed, Connor could see the softness in his eyes and the way he seemed so calm for the moment. No longer did a storm darken those blue eyes so violently as it let them shine instead. _Truly beautiful_, Connor thought, his hands still resting so gently on Hank’s broad shoulders. The skin felt warmth beneath his hands.

“You look like one of those sad shirts in a second-hand store that no one buys because people usually have some sense of colour combination” Connor chuckled; his cheeks coloured red despite the tears that had not quite dried yet.

“Someone’s gotta buy ‘em” the response came with such an ease that Connor could not believe that he had allowed himself to worry so much the entire night, for this, this felt real. If he only dared to express the depth of his feelings and his newly discovered love, but he still could not, his heart still somewhat frozen in fear.

“Noble” sarcasm dripped in his voice, but there was no ire as Connor spoke, only the same warmth from before. Hank met his eyes and for a moment he just paused, staring, his eyes wide. Seeing such a stare caught Connor slightly off guard, and he tilted his head to the side, puzzled. Before more could be said, though, Hank stood up, and Connor’s hands slid away from his shoulders, leaving him feeling empty, cold.

“Anyway!” the Lieutenant said, clearing his voice slightly as the puffiness of his cheek settled only to be replaced by a new blush that Connor wished was for the same reason that he himself blushed. Though there was no way. “Let’s go catch ourselves a serial killer”

* * *

In comparison to Sam’s apartment, Melville’s was in a much better neighbourhood. Not only was the building itself a well-kept pastel blue, but the very gate to the complex was locked. Once the two of them saw it, they realised that this might be a bit more difficult than they thought. The building towered high above them as Connor was struck by an idea. Without a word to the other, he rang the doorbell of one of the people living on the floor below Melville, hoping for a response.

“Who is this? I don’t expect any visitors today” the voice belonged to a woman, and the suspicion was clear in her voice.

“Sorry, ma’am” Connor responded, his voice lowered slightly in pitch as he spoke more nasally, knowing that this was a skill he had not yet had the chance to show Hank. Voices were something he loved doing, but rarely got the chance to, so now he made sure to sound as different from himself as possible without sounding unnatural. “I live up ‘bove ya! Recently moved in! Could ye just ping me in? Forgot this whole gate thingy an’ left my card at home”

“Oh, Lord, this again?” the raspy reply from the woman upstairs came through the phone, telling them that this was obviously not the first time this had happened, and the words were soon followed by a soft ‘ping’ from the door. “Don’t forget next time!”

“I won’t! Thanks!” Connor said lastly, a smug smile playing on his lips as the two of them stepped into the building. As he looked over at Hank, he did see a slight expression of surprise, his eyebrows raised and a pleased smile.

“That’s new” he said as he pressed the button to call for the elevator, his arms folded across his chest, but the smile still present on his lips.

“Saying that we were police would only take longer” Connor explained, feeling proud that he seemingly impressed the Lieutenant, just like intended. “Sometimes a card up one’s sleeve is necessary”

Hank chuckled, shaking his head as in disbelief. “You’re one interesting guy, Detective R. Kelly” he said, and the words brought a warm shiver down Connor’s back, making his heart hammer.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Lieutenant Anderson” he said as the elevator finally arrived, and they stepped inside.

Apparently, Melville Geier lived on the very top floor in this 20-story building in what was undeniably one of the most expensive apartment complexes in the area. The surrounding buildings were equal in size, all of them tightly packed together, but this one in particular rose slightly above the rest, giving the top apartment a phenomenal view. Luckily for whichever rich person that occupied this top floor, the roofs of the other buildings were closed off from the residents, meaning that despite one could technically jump from building to building, it was difficult to even get close enough to do so. _Well planned out_, Connor thought as the elevator binged, telling them that they had reached their desired floor. Yet, he was a bit confused. When they had first looked for a suspect, they had been looking for someone that was unemployed, but Melville was clearly not short on money.

As soon as the sound interrupted their silence, the two of them tensed, Hank’s hand close to his gun, prepared. Both knew that this was it, they felt it in their bones as they stepped out, greeted by the one door for the entire floor that lead to their goal, their suspect. This was their chance.

“Mr. Geier” Hank called as they approached the door, knocking heavily upon its wooden surface. “DPD, open up!”

At first, they heard nothing. Disappointment was just about to settle in Connor as the minutes ticked on until Hank hammered on the door again, repeating his command. This time, though, they heard a loud crash on the other side of the door.

“Step back” Hank said, and Connor obeyed before the larger man kicked open the door with ease, the wood splintering beneath his powerful kick. With his gun in hand, Hank lead while Connor followed, his eyes quickly scanning the area.

Once inside, they could finally grasp the vast size and expense of the apartment they found themselves in. All the outer walls were covered in large, beautiful windows that showed the magnificent view of Detroit with panels there to quickly be able to shadow the light of the sun. Now, all of the panels were open, and the midday sun shined through the apartment, illuminating the statues and expensive paintings that lined the crisp white walls. As they stepped forwards, they stepped into the living area, judging by the large television and the expensive couch. Upon the living room table, Connor caught a glance of an all too familiar red drug, and the blood in his veins caught on fire. Red ice.

Before he could consider the drugs any longer, the two of them laid eyes on the reason for the crash, and Connor reacted before he could even think about it. One of the magnificent windows on the other side of the room, that was facing one of the other buildings, was smashed, glass glittering like stars on the floor. But what caught Connor’s eye was the clear, and obvious figure that was running across the rooftop beyond it.

With the ease of training, Connor leapt forwards, running towards the open hole in the window, not even hearing Hank call his name. All he could see was the figure in the distance, and all he knew was that he could catch up with it. Easily, he jumped through the window, the height of the building unbeknownst to him as all he could think of was to put next foot after the other. Faster. Stronger. In the distance, Melville jumped to another building, but stumbled on his way, falling to his knees for a brief moment before he once again took of sprinting. Connor kept following, though he cleared the jump, and he knew that he was catching up, he felt it in the excitement in his veins and his heavy breaths. _Just a little more_, he thought, and now he could see him.

Melville was wearing a full black suit that almost made him blend in with the blackness of the roof, but his hair was a bright, shining white that stood out. Without really thinking, Connor memorised the looks, the length of the hair, the body type. Clearly, Melville had been working out due to the way his broad shoulders pumped, and his legs ran with ease. He was probably somewhere between 6’1 and 6’2, young by the looks of it and thus exactly a perfect match to their killer. After all, strength was needed to gain control over another person, capturing them.

Yet, what Melville might have had in strength over Connor, Connor had in technique. While Melville jumped the buildings haphazardly, Connor followed with intent, perfectly calculating where to jump to get closer, to catch up with the running suspect. Soon, he got closer, and for a moment Melville looked back at him, his grey eyes wide with something close to fear, but as soon as they locked eyes, the fear faded. The sudden change left Connor shocked and he felt himself stumble slightly, his eyes quickly turning to the floor to regain his balance, and when he looked up it was too late. While he kept his eyes away, Melville had come to a full stop before the jump to the next building while Connor was still running headfirst. They were too close, Connor knew that, and he knew what was going to happen before it did. Yet, there was nothing he could do as Melville simply moved aside, and with one deliberate shove, sent Connor flying without control towards the edge of the roof.

_Not again_, was all Connor could think as he felt himself falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo cliff hanger yo!  
Or more like "roof hanger", eh? ;)  
No, but seriously, thank you all so much for reading!! I hope that the story is still interesting now that we get into the drama, and that it makes at least a tiny bit of sense!!
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos (they are needed hehe) <3  
Next chapter: "A Collapse of Heart" will be out within a week! I'm looking forwards for you to read it!


	9. A Collapse of Heart

**Hank**

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Hank felt his mind panic as he tried his best to follow the youths that were rushing far ahead of him in a chase there was no way he could follow. As soon as he had seen the hole in the window, he had known what Connor was going to do, but he had been a millisecond too late. Connor was already on his way, too fast, too far away for Hank to reach and all he could do was to follow to his best extent. Which was not much, not much at all.

His breath was heavy, the taste of iron in his mouth as he ran the fastest he thought he had ever run in his entire life. Each jump took such an amount of effort, that he lost time trying to regain himself, trying to once again find his balance and keep running. _Fuck_. He had jumped between at least three buildings, and if he remembered correctly, they were soon coming to the edge of the street, something that filled him with such an intense fear that for a moment, everything went black. Quickly, he regained himself, and he kept running, wishing that he could shout for the two to stop.

As he rounded the last corner, having jumped between two roofs once again, he felt his heart stop in his chest. Before him was a sight from a nightmare, and before he could think, he started running again, running towards the disaster ahead of him. Connor had caught up with Melville, though something must have happened, for Melville had come to a full stop, while Connor was running straight ahead. Hank felt his entire body turn to ice as he saw it, he saw the tension in Melville as he prepared to push, as he took a step back, and then shoved. Connor had no chance.

“Fucking stop!” Hank shouted from the bottom of his lunges, his throat tearing by the force, telling him that he was going to get hoarse later, but that did not matter, Connor had already fallen out of sight. Yet, his shout had startled Melville, whom once again started running, thought this time taking a sharp right as he tried to run past Hank, back to his apartment. Hank knew that he could stop him. If he only ran diagonally, Melville would have no other choice, but to run headfirst into him, thus losing this insane game of cat and mouse. There was no way Hank could do it. Instead, he kept running, seeing Melville disappear in the corner of his eye as Hank finally reached the end of the roof, his breath heavy, his vision blurry.

“Connor! Fuck! Connor!” he shouted as he leaned over, fearing what he would see. But, to his surprise, the younger man had managed to catch a hold of the edge of the roof, hanging on with a panicked look in his eyes. Quickly, Hank leaned over and grabbed Connor’s wrist, pulling him up with all his might. Connor was heavy, heavier than usual as he seemed frozen, unmoving despite Hank’s effort to pull him up.

“Come on, Connor!” he shouted, his voice already hoarse as he kept pulling, putting everything he had in an attempt to pull him up, pull him into safety.

With one last pull, the younger man finally fell back onto the rooftop, and Hank pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest. Fear still made his heart thunder in his chest, and he could not hear anything, could not see anything, but Connor in his arms. The man was deadly silent, his body rigid, his face a pale white.

“Connor, fuck” was all Hank could find himself whispering, his voice breaking as it hurt, and he gently lifted his hand to that deadly pale cheek, feeling it cold beneath his fingers. “Are you okay?”

Fleetingly, Hank got no response whatsoever as Connor vacant eyes made the fear within the older man grow in intensity, his vision once again blurry, before suddenly, Connor started to shiver. The shivers were not localized to his hands like usual, but his entire body shook in Hank’s arms as tears suddenly filled those beautiful brown eyes with a fear so intense that Hank felt his breath stuck in his throat.

“Why…” the younger man whispered, his voice a ghost of his usual confident one; weak, fragile. Never before had he seen Connor so weak, so absolutely terrified, and it broke Hank’s heart to see. “He—he got away”

Hank could not understand the reaction nor the weak words that Connor said, but before he could reply, Connor’s hands suddenly gripped the front of his shirt in a desperate grip, his body still violently shivering. Now, Hank could feel the tension in the body, he could see the way Connor’s body contorted, seemingly crawling into a ball in his arms as tears rolled down those soft cheeks,

“You—Mission first” Connor wept and the fear, the devastation in his voice brought fresh tears to Hank’s eyes as he tried his best to hold Connor close, to wipe away those tears with his thumb as they welled down his freckled cheeks. Why? Why this reaction? What had he gone through?

“No, for fuck’s sake, Connor” he found himself saying, his voice thick and raspy as he tried to convey his feelings, tried to break Connor out of whatever this was. “You first, always you first”

The boy shook his head violently at that, the desperation in his eyes ever clearer as the tears streamed, his breath shallow, too fast. “No—No--…” he whispered again.

“Yes!” Hank wanted to shout, but instead he whispered gently as he kept stroking Connor’s cheek gently despite how his own eyes were clouded with tears. Hearing Connor’s pained whispers made everything ache within Hank, and he could not deal with it, could not deal with seeing Connor so hurt. “Come on, breathe now” he continued as he leaned down, placing his forehead against Connor’s, the only thing in his mind being the wish to make Connor happy. “Breathe with me”

Staying like that, gently holding Connor while breathing heavily, Hank could no longer keep his emotions in check. All he could do was to focus on Connor, on breathing, on making sure that the idiot knew how much he meant to him, how much good he had done. He kept whispering encouragements, words of validation until the coldness of the November air creeped into his bones and Connor stopped shivering.

At last, Connor’s grip eased, and his body relaxed slightly, enough for him to move more snugly against Hank’s body. The feeling brought both joy, and sadness to Hank’s aching heart, and yet he kept his hand upon his cheek, his forehead against the other’s.

“I’m sorry” the younger man eventually whispered, though this time, his voice had returned slightly to its usual tone, the only difference being a weakness therein. “I did not mean to react like that”

“Damnit don’t apologise” Hank said, his voice warmer than his words, and a tenderness to it despite the hoarseness. “It’s alright, I got you”

“But—but it happened again” every time Connor whispered, Hank could feel the warm breath against his lips, sending tingles down his body, filling him with such a deep desire to just love and be loved that he could barely breathe. “I fell again—”

“Have you fallen before?” Hank asked gently, trying his best to not seem prying as all he wanted was for Connor to feel good, to be alright. In the same way that Connor had helped him earlier that day with venting, something he never thought would work, he wanted to be there to listen, to say that everything is alright.

“I—I told you about my failure… The time I was supposed to be a negotiator?” when Hank nodded slowly, Connor continued to speak, his voice still nothing more than a whisper. “It was… It was not fully a failure in the sense that the girl died, but it was a… After I had talked to the caretaker, trying to calm him down, I noticed that it wasn’t working. He wasn’t listening to me. His name was Daniel, and he wasn’t a sociopath, he was just scared. But I--… I had always been told ‘Mission First’, but I was so tired, so damn tired of feeling like I was nothing but a machine that solved murders. I hated fearing my Captain’s disappointment, hated the way she twisted my words to make it out to be all my fault. I was… so deep in a hole that I saw no way out. I—I sacrified myself. Or that was what I told Captain Stern. I told her the only way out was to push Daniel off the roof while simultaneously pushing the girl back on the roof. I—I said the only way to do it would be to use myself. To fall of the roof as well… The truth is…”

Connor’s voice broke as a sob escaped him, tears once again rolling down his cheeks. “The truth is that I--… I wanted to die… I could not live with that pressure anymore. By dying completing my mission, I hoped that at least in death, the Captain would not be disappointed. But… But I lived. Six stories I fell, and I lived while Daniel died. I was told that my survival was miraculous, that if I hadn’t landed on Daniel, breaking my fall, I would be dead. Fuck, I wish I was. I’m weak… A coward… I escaped to Detroit to get away, but I’m still a fucking coward… I couldn’t—couldn’t become a cop ‘cuz I was so scared… And I’m a failure… I can’t…”

When Connor finished speaking, he broke down into heavy crying, sobs ripping through his body as all Hank could do was hold him, whispering that everything was alright despite how his own heart ached with the information he had received. No longer was the reaction Connor had odd, but so valid that Hank almost felt guilty for questioning it in the first place.

“You’re not a failure” Hank found himself saying, surprised to how much he could relate to what Connor had said, and even more so by the calmness that settled within him as he spoke. “Shit’s difficult sometimes, sometimes even overwhelmingly shitty. It makes things seem as if nothing will ever get better and that there’s no other way out. But, fuck, Connor, if you… If you weren’t here today, if you would have died then, I wouldn’t be here… We wouldn’t be so close to catching a serial killer, and helping others… But you are here, and you’re here ‘cuz you’re strong, alright?”

Again, Hank felt how his words seemed to wedge themselves into his own heart, making him silently wonder what took him so fucking long to understand that the same words he told Connor applied as much to himself. Of course, one part of him refused to understand, but another wanted to, truly wanted to believe that if he lived, he could do something good with what he had. His games of Russian Roulette suddenly looked insane.

“Finding something to live for every day is strength” he continued, his eyes wet with tears. “If it so is to work at a bar as you came to do, or… Or just to see someone else succeed. It’s never easy, but it’s doable and you can ask for help, okay? You’re not alone. The world might be fucked up, but some people makes it all worth it. You made me realise that”

Finally, Connor’s hand realised their panicked grip, and instead wrapped around Hank’s neck in a tight, breath-taking hug. Having to move his hand away from the other’s cheek, Hank felt himself lean into the hug equally as hard as Connor, holding on with all that he had while his heart seemed so settle ever so slightly, his face buried into the other’s soft shoulder.

After a while, Connor’s grip around him loosened, and they parted, both still wiping the tears from their eyes. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful, until Hank felt a realisation dawn upon him. The words he had said, though he did not regret them in the slightest, might have been more revealing than he thought they would be. Once more his heart started to hammer nervously as he wondered whether Connor now knew the secrets of his heart, the fact that Hank had fallen so heavily for him. But, when Connor met his eyes, once again back to his usual self apart from the tired look on him, he could see that he had not. Hank did not know whether he was relieved, or disappointed.

“And you say you’re bad with words?” Connor ask, the softness back in his voice as all Hank could do was to blush, rubbing his beard, embarrassed. “That was some of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, sappy as they were”

“Shut up, asshole” Hank could not help but say, a smile returning to his face, filling him with warmth. “We got a work to do now, so let’s get going already”

The older man knew he was being harsh, knew that his demeanour was not always conveyed in the way I wanted it to, but by the amused look in Connor’s eyes, he knew that he understood. The feeling filled him with a calmness that settled his hammering heart once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff-hanger resolved?? Mission continues!!  
I'm not all too good with dialogues, but I wanted Con to tell Hank about the shit that happened!   
I'm not super happy with this chapter because I feel like it's not good enough nor entirely what I want it to be, but I can't go back to editing without risking losing motivation :/ Hopefully it's still good enough!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for the kudos and comments!! It makes me so happy to see <3  
Next week comes next chapter: "An Unexpected Entrance" with more drama and more pining!


	10. An Unexpected Entrance

**Connor**

It had now been a week since they last saw Melville Geier and Connor could still not help but blame himself. After his breakdown on the roof, the two of them had decided to split for the moment. While Hank went back to his precinct to talk to Captain Fowler about his discoveries and get out a warrant out on Melville, Connor made his way back to The Corner, guilt still burrowed deep in his heart. Of course, Hank’s words had spoken so true that they were undeniable, spoken so warmly that Connor felt his heart explode whenever he thought about it, letting himself feel the warmth that he had been shown. What he could not help, on the other hand, was the still existing fear of being rejected. Hank did not know the way Connor wished for something else, for something that would change their current dynamic drastically and risk everything they had built up during the last couple of months. Love, the romantic love, that Connor felt, it was terrifying.

During the week after, Connor had been fully back working with Mr. Collins, whom seemed happy to finally have his employee back as much as the regulars seemed glad that he was back. Connor was surprised to find out how many had missed him when he returned, how many said that talking to him always made them smile and that when he suddenly disappeared, they all got worried. Obviously, Mr. Collins informed them that Connor was merely busy with another job at the moment, but Connor understood the others, nevertheless. Hearing all those kind words made him think about what Hank had said, how one should look for the smallest things just to stay alive, something to look forwards to, and he felt bad for not seeing it earlier at the same time as he felt bad for the part of him that still questioned it. He also felt bad for not helping Mr. Collins, but the older man had insured him that all was well, that Hank had explained the situation well enough.

Now, being back working something else than the case, Connor felt once more that this was not quite for him. Despite the fact that Hank kept dropping in, leaving information about the whereabouts of their subject and the few sightings there had been so that Connor was always in the loop, there was no doubt that Connor missed being a part of it all. Sometimes he found himself thinking, imagining the paperwork that Hank was probably doing, the talks with the other officers about the sightings, and the constant look out, the frustrating anticipation. He missed it all. If he had only the access to the police database like he had had before, he would be able to check security cameras of different stores throughout Detroit, looking for the face he recognised all too well just to satisfy the part of him that wanted to stay productive, stay alert. But he could not. At least he was glad that there was no doubt that Melville had stayed in Detroit judging by the sightings of the white-haired man after police sketches had been given to the public and the very fact that there had been a huge stock of drugs in his fancy apartment. No one would leave such a stock behind, especially now when they were used to using it.

“Yo, Connor” the Mr. Collins’s deep voice interrupted Connor’s thoughts as he was staring vacantly into the wall once more and he quickly snapped back into reality, smiling.

“Yes?” he said, continuing to wipe the mug that he had held harshly in his hands when he first started to drift away. The two of them were cleaning up after the night, dishing the glasses that had been used and wiping the floor as well as other surfaces. Doing this had allowed Connor to let himself think since he did not have to pay attention to any costumer, but he had forgotten that Mr. Collins was there as well. A slight embarrassed blush blossomed on his cheeks.

“I’ve come to notice” Mr. Collins started, his hands holding the mop as his eyes were fixed on Connor. “Hank seems to be feeling better. I’ve never seen him this productive before, and I even noticed that he was been drinking coffee whenever he’s been here. It’s no secret that he’s an alcoholic, but something has changed. You know anything about this?”

Slightly taken aback by the direct question, yet somehow happy that he was not alone to see the change in Hank, Connor found himself smiling slightly, the blush no longer from embarrassment.

“I do not know for certain, but I know that Hank is trying his best” he said, warmth filling him as he felt so intensely proud of the progress that Hank had done. “I think, or more hope, that he is finally letting himself listen to those around him. He told me yesterday, that he had never realised how much Captain Fowler actually cared about him until Hank told him that there was a break in the case. Apparently, the Captain had hugged him. Hank thought it was awkward ‘as fuck’ as he said, but I think he was happy”

Mr. Collins chuckled happily at what Connor told him, a fond smile appearing on his lips as well. “Well, that makes me very happy to hear” he said as he put back the mop into the closet, before turning back to Connor, a look of concern once again in his deep, dark eyes. “What about you then? How are you feeling?”

Again, Connor was surprised, but he shrugged slightly as he dragged a hand through his hair. Today, he had not bothered to use gel in his hair like he always did otherwise, and it was softly curled, something that Connor did feel self-conscious about.

“I’m better, I think?” he replied much more honestly than he thought he would, and his smile turned more sheepish as he could not help but feel slightly embarrassed. “I still have problems with some things, but I find it a bit easier to deal with it. I’m—I’m actually trying to get back into the habit of writing again. I know it is a healthier way to deal with everything”

His employer nodded, clearly satisfied with what he had said, and Connor felt himself relax just slightly. The anxiety was still coursing through him as the dark part of his mind tried to make him question everything, tried to force him to believe that Mr. Collins found him ridiculous, weak, a bother. Yet, he managed to contain those thoughts somehow, focusing on the fact that Mr. Collins had never said anything even close to what his darkness provided. _Fuck you_, he thought to that darkness, _fuck off_.

“Maybe you should write Hank a love letter” as the words was being said, Connor could see the way Mr. Collins went from mild concern, to clear amusement. His old eyes twinkled with playfulness, his smirk an endearment, but more than anything, his voice was challenging. “Easier than saying it straight out, at least”

Connor spluttered, his cheeks now burning a crimson red and he felt himself hot with embarrassment, hot with nervousness. “I—I… Why?” was the only thing he managed to stutter out as his wide eyes met the playful ones on the other side of the counter.

“Connor, c’mon, you know it as much as I do” Mr. Collins must have noticed Connor’s nervousness, for his expression softened slightly, the teasing gone as he simply looked happy. “You keep staring at him, telling me that you wonder what he’s doing. You always have the same cup prepared for if he comes so you can serve him the coffee he likes. You’re damn obvious, honestly. Besides, you’ve started to call him Hank”

_Am I really that obvious_? Connor asked himself as he rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks still glowing hot. There was no doubt still that he was head over heels for the Lieutenant, but he had finally started to come to terms with the fact that he was happy being friends with Hank, happy just spending time with him regardless of whether his feelings were answered. After all, platonic love was important as well, he kept telling himself. That his heart wished for something else, his body aching for touch, well, that was something he needed to ignore.

“I don’t… want to ruin our friendship” he ended up mumbling, his eyes turned to the floor as he felt his heart hammering in his chest. “If I just came out and said--… everything, it would just be bad, right? After all, I am an inexperienced young idiot, as he had said himself, while he… He is a Lieutenant; he is strong, and he knows who he is. I don’t know who I am, I don’t really know what I’m doing at all. Why would he even think of being with me?”

“Again, you’re cutting yourself short, Connor” Mr. Collins chuckled, the kind smile still playing on his lips as he tried to look into Connor’s eyes, but Connor felt so small beneath that gaze, as if the other could see everything, hear everything in his mind. “Haven’t you noticed how much both of you have changed?”

Confused, Connor met Mr. Collin’s earnest eyes briefly, and he saw that the man did not lie. Nothing about the man’s posture nor expression told of deceit. Connor’s heart hammered harder in his chest as he tilted his head softly to the side, puzzled.

“Okay, okay then” the other said, seeing Connor’s curiosity too clearly and thus continuing, his smile still gentle. “First and foremost, have you seen yourself today? Your hair is curly, and you’re just wearing your white shirt with the topmost button unbuttoned. When I first hired you, you came into work looking like you were working as a lawyer or something. Always perfect flat hair, always a tie, and always so damn polite. You look so relaxed now, and the regulars have noticed it too! Even William told me the other day that he noticed that you were looking happier, and he never looks at anyone. You even swear occasionally, Connor!”

This time Mr. Collins laughed before he continued speaking, Connor unable to do anything else but listen intently, a chuckle of his own escaping him.

“Hank, on the other hand, he’s different too. I’ve known the man for years now, and I’ve never seen him this calm. I’ve taken him home on multiple occasions because he got himself wasted, and I’ve seen the worst. Now, he hasn’t been drinking any alcohol for a week! I have seen withdrawal symptoms when he’s come here, so I know he hasn’t been drinking elsewhere” he continued, and the smile seemed to grow ever wider as the man seemed just so happy that his friends were happy. “Besides that, the guy smells fresh! He has never smelled bad or anything, but he always smelled like overused clothes and alcohol, but now, he actually smells fairly good. It’s damn relief, to say the least, and the reason can’t be anything, but you Connor. You’re the reason he’s changed, I know it”

With his breath stuck in his throat, thoughts rushed through his head. Was this true? Had Hank really changed that drastically? Now that Connor thought about it, he did remember that he had noticed how good Hank had looked as of recent, how his heart went crazy every time he was near, how badly he had longed to be held and have his whole world consist purely of Hank’s wonderful scent. He remembered being proud of Hank for the fact that he had not seen him drinking, and those couple of times during the week where he had met him in his house, he could tell that there were no bottles around. Instead, Hank seemed happy, and the two of them had just watched television, or eaten something that Connor cooked. It had all just seemed so normal, so natural at the time, that Connor had not thought about it too much. All he knew was that they were both doing better, helping each other.

“But…” Connor began saying, a shiver evident in his voice as he dared not believe that he had a chance, dared not think that what he wished for could be attainable. “It’s only been a week… It’s easy to fall back into old patterns. This might just be momentarily”

“Recovery is never easy. Getting better is never easy. You’re both probably going to relapse at some point, but relapsing is a part of recovery. So, isn’t that an even better reason to be honest with each other?” the answer Connor received, said with such an honest care, made his heart ache and he sighed, frowning. “I know it is scary, Connor, but I can see on the two of you that it is worth a try. Besides, it’s a myth that it is impossible going back to being friends after engaging in a relationship. You guys fit each other perfectly, so I say go for it! Give it a try! Be honest to yourself”

Connor nodded slowly, his mind going a hundred miles per hour with thoughts, with predications, and yet with hope. What had been said now was something worth thinking about and he felt overwhelmed for a moment, his hands shivering once more. He needed time.

“Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Collins” he ended up saying, turning back to look at him with an honest, but sad smile. “Is it okay if I finish cleaning on my own? I have quite a lot to think about and could use the time”

“Of course” Mr. Collins responded, a soft smile on his lips as he went to pick up his belongings before heading towards the door, waving to Connor on his way out. “Remember that it is just to call if there is anything! You know how to close it all, so I trust you with the keys. Good night!”

“Good night” Connor said and waved to Mr. Collins as the older man finally exited the building, leaving Connor alone with the creaking of the bar. Quietly, he sat down on one of the barstools, his elbows on the counter, and his face in his hands. Was Mr. Collins right? Was it really worth trying? Once again, his heart hammered at the mere thought as images of the two of them in Hank’s house, cuddling in the bed with Sumo at their feet flooded his mind, made him sigh with an intense longing that brought a lump to his throat. He could not deny that he wanted it. He could not deny that a future with Hank was something he could actually be looking forwards to instead of the blankness of a future he could not even picture. If he was honest with himself, he had not thought about the future for quite a while. Every time he tried, he realised that he had seen nothing. At his worst, he had barely even seen the morning come. Yet, now, he wanted to think about it despite how his heart ached with fear and his mind filled with those anxious thoughts that hurt so bad. A future was not that bad as long as Hank was there. Even if Connor did not end up getting to work with the DPD, if Hank was there, he could be happy.

But did that mean that he actually had a chance? Just because his heart ached with such intensity, it did not mean that Hank felt the same. For all he knew, Hank maybe just saw him as a good friend. By confessing, he risked losing him to awkwardness and distance. On the other hand, Connor did want to trust Mr. Collins when he said that good friends remain friends regardless. Connor could not deny that he had seen and heard many stories of couples who claimed that their significant other was their best friend as well. He had even heard of friends who got together, to break up and part for a while, before realising that they loved each other fully, truly. With all those people in mind, could he really dare taking such a step? Now that he thought about it, he really did. Maybe writing him a note was a good idea after all. Just a small one, maybe even a post-it note like the notes that were the reason for Hank to invite him in the first place. The thought made Connor feel giddy, and he sat up straight again, taking a deep breath. _Fuck it._

Before he could do anything, the bell over the door rang, disturbing the pristine silence that had earlier encompassed Connor with comfort, instead of the usual fear. Confused, he turned to face it, his mouth opened to say that they were closed, but it soon shut as he saw who had walked through the door of The Corner.

Now, with the door closed behind him and the soft snow of the outside closed off, stood Melville, a smirk upon his pale lips, a darkness in his eyes. Connor had no idea what to do, and he quickly dashed off the stool, ready for an attack, for anything at all as he stood. His phone was in the pocket of his jacket, yet he could not dare to take it out now for risk of Melville noticing it, taking his one chance to contact Hank away. If he attacked, he risked a full-on confrontation, but he did not want to risk dying. After all, he finally wanted a future.

“Melville” Connor began instead, his voice calm and steady as his instincts as a police officer took over, letting him gain a sense of control he otherwise rarely had.

“Connor” the other replied, his voice smooth, yet bright in a way that brought cold shivers of fear down Connor’s back. “I was surprised to see that you were alive. Really thought you went falling off the building. But then again, you are the miracle, after all”

“I got help” was all Connor managed to say, his heart now filling with ice, the air around him suddenly hard to breathe. There was no way Melville could know about the “accident”, that he knew his name he could guess was because of Hank shouting it, but the accident? That was a whole other thing.

“Lucky you, I guess” slowly, Melville took a step forward, and Connor fell back, trying to keep the distance between them while the voice kept speaking to him in the same, cold tone. “I would rather say; lucky me, though”

Chuckling, Melville slowly pulled out a gun from behind him, perfectly pointing it square at Connor’s head. Fear now ran through Connor’s veins, and he felt himself freeze in place, the lump in his throat growing steadily heavier, steadily harder. He was too far away to grab the gun without risking getting shot in the process and judging by the way Melville’s hand did not even tremble at the weight of the gun, Connor knew that he knew what to do with it. His chances for escape were diminishing for every second that passed.

“Before I saw you, I was so scared of being caught. I thought my luck had finally failed me, that I could no longer punish those who so rightfully deserved punishment. But, then! Then, you appeared. You know you look exactly like him, right?” a twisted joy had suddenly entered Melville’s cold complexion, and he was grinning, a toothy grin that seemed to stretch further, unnaturally warping the cold façade. “Another to punish, another one to destroy so that you can’t bring me any more pain. Two flies one rock. You are the last of them, I know! My luck brought you to me, the officer that found me, just so that I can be released!”

Suddenly, the twisted grin disappeared, and Melville’s eyes gained an intensity that Connor recognised. This was a man that thought himself beyond consequences, just like expected, and this time he was in full control.

“Come with me now, Connor” Melville said, his gun still pointed at him. “Come now slowly and peacefully, or I will be going for your Lieutenant instead”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa, almost a day late!! I have not gone to bed yet (hehe I should), so technically it's not a new day yet ;)  
A bit of a build-up for the big confrontation in this one, eh? :D I'm so excited (and scared) for how you will react to the whole business of next chapter!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for the kudos and the wonderful comments! You literally make my day <3  
Be prepared for some drama in the next chapter: "A Call for Help"!


	11. A Call for Help

**Hank**

The time was 3:45 A.M, when Hank’s phone rang. He would not have woken up, was it not for Sumo, whose barks broke Hank out of a deep sleep, filled with dreams of fear and hope. Groaning, he sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes before he looked over at his large, friendly giant, seeing him bark furiously at the ringing phone on his armchair. _God damn it_, he had forgotten to put it on soundless once again. Not that he had actually figured out how to do it. He usually just played music on it until it ran out of battery, hoping that it would keep it quiet during the night.

“C’mon boy!” he sighed as he reached over towards the phone, Sumo’s gentle eyes fixated on it with nothing else but suspicion. Despite being such a cute, lazy dork, Sumo tended to be quite suspicious when it came to loud noises from electrical devices and Hank always made sure to have his volume down. “It’s just the phone”

In the dark, the brightness of the screen was blinding, and Hank groaned again, wondering which fucking asshole dared calling him at that ungodly hour. When his eyes finally adjusted, he no longer wished harm on the caller, and instead felt a heaviness in his stomach as worry filled him. Connor.

Without waiting any further, he clumsily dragged his finger across the screen from the green side (_damn complicated phones_) and pressed the phone against his ear, fully awake.

“Connor?”

There was no response. All he heard was the sound of a car, and gentle, quiet breathing. Hank knew that breathing and the worry intensified, dragging the heaviness down even further as his hands started to tremble. Suddenly, he held onto the phone with all his power, afraid that if he let go, something bad was going to happen.

Another voice was suddenly heard in the car, a much smoother voice, much higher pitched than Connor’s and for some reason it made Hank furious. “Now, now Connor, why the silence?” the voice said, “Are you scared? You know that you deserve what is coming, so why don’t you just tell me your thoughts?”

This time, Connor actually spoke, his voice far away, but closer than the other. “I am just trying to figure out how you found me, that’s all” he said, and Hank kept quiet, kept listening. Connor had called him for a reason, and he had a bad feeling that the reason was extremely important. His hands were wet with sweat as he kept the phone tightly held, the plastic digging into his fingers.

“Pah! Really? I thought it was obvious! Maybe you are a worse detective after all, but I am not surprised” the voice spoke with a sickly confidence, belittling Connor with each word he said in a way that made Hank’s blood boil in anger. “I always stalk my prey, make sure that I know when they are alone so that I have the upper hand! Each tiny little bit of information I have is an insurance for my victory. I was following you while I paid people to say that they had seen me far away from where I actually was. It was really quite clever; I’d like to say. You don’t know how desperate some people are for money!”

It was Melville, Hank was sure. Melville had found Connor. _Fuck_, why had he not thought of the fact that Connor fit perfectly into the type that the murderer went for? Now that he finally thought about it, Benjamin had even had brown eyes for fuck’s sake! Hank had never felt so stupid in his entire life, and he rose to his feet, quickly gathering some clothing that he would throw on as soon as the call was over.

“You are right” Connor’s voice finally came through again, this time sounding more puzzled than before. There was no way to tell whether he was faking it or not over the phone, but Hank did not like it. “So, where are you taking me? Judging by your research, you must have thought that out long ago”

A chuckle was heard through the phone, and Hank heard the coldness of it, almost seeing before him the wide, soulless grin that produced such a horrifying sound.

“Flattering, Connor, flattering! I know it is your little detective brain working, but no matter what I say, you cannot escape!” the voice said triumphantly, “But, just for my own amusement, I will tell you that we are heading to a roof somewhere just for the little dramatic irony. Cannot be any roof, though, since we all know that someone would see it in the middle of town. Earlier this week I scouted out some abandoned factories, and I found a perfect one! Not too far away! You’re going to hate it, and I’m going to have a blast. This time your fall will kill you, miracle boy”

An abandoned factory somewhere not too far away. In a matter of second, Hank was by his computer and opened up a search engine, having absolutely no idea which it was, and typed the words in, the phone held against his shoulder. If he had had the time, he would have tracked Connor’s cell phone, but there was no way he would be able to call the precinct and make them do it before Connor was forced to hang up. Once he hit enter, he realised that he had already a huge problem. Multiple factories popped up with different news headings, ranging from the closure of one to an accident in another. Overwhelmed by information, he saw commercials for irrelevant objects, blog entries about a visit to a haunted factory and on and on. How could he find a specific one?

“That… that doesn’t sound very nice, no” Connor’s voice was scared, shivering and Hank felt his heart ache. “Now that I hear that, I realise that I would rather have fought you in The Corner, where you found me. I think Mr. Collins would have forgiven me”

_Connor, you smart wonder_! Quickly, Hank opened the map section of the search engine, frantically opening it with the search of factories still active. Soon, he had written in the address to The Corner and directions to any factory, leaving him with multiple options to multiple different factories. It was disorienting seeing all those blue lines going from one point to many others, and Hank felt himself sick, sick with worry, with anxiety, and a deep intense fear. He could not let himself lose. Instead, he started clicking in on the factories, quickly eliminating all the still functioning factories, leaving him with five remaining. All of them were a possibility, and Hank wished I could ask Connor for any sort of hint to which direction they had been driving, but he could not risk it. Fuck, fuck…

“And we have finally arrived” Melville exclaimed, and Hank felt himself freeze. Looking at the screen, the conversation had lasted a quarter of an hour, but he had no idea whether Connor had called him straight away. _Fuck_. None of the factories were 15 minutes away.

“That took longer than expected” Connor said, and Hank wanted to reach out, into the phone, pull Connor into his arms until that horrified voice turned soft. “Approximately, 40 minutes, if I estimate correctly”

“Are you some robot or something? Inner clock or what?” Melville scoffed before Hank could hear the sound of a car door opening, and the voice even further away. “Whatever you’re doing, it is pointless. You’re not getting out of here”

Suddenly, Hank could hear nothing else but the tone of someone hanging up. The silence was deafening, crippling as Hank still stared at the screen before him, seeing that only one factory was 40 minutes away. Connor was such a fucking genius and Hank loved him with all of his heart. Fuck, he loved him so much, and he could not lose him, not now, not ever.

Within minutes, Hank was in his car, driving way above the speed limits as the wind shook his car. Not many cars were out so late at night, to Hank’s relief, but regardless he drove on, his hands gripping the wheel hard in his panic. On and on he drove, his mind only filled with the horrifying picture in his head of Connor; dead on the ground with his eyes gauged out, and a knife through his heart. He had seen those bodies too many times, and etched into his memory as they were, it was too easy for his anxiety to place Connor’s face on those instead. Connor, the way too sweet, way too caring man that came into his life and gave him light once more. _Fuck_.

The last week Hank had decided to go full cold turkey, and it had been difficult, but Connor had been there. When the urge was at its worse, he would call Connor, complaining about Sumo, or his television, or his computer, or just that he was hungry. Connor would suggest coming over to help him with whatever made up problem Hank had said he had, and they would sit down to watch a movie afterwards, or just eat. It had removed the extreme edges to his need to drink, and despite his nausea, despite his shivering hands, his cold sweat, he could power through it. Connor was there, and it gave him strength. He could not lose him, for Connor deserved all the happiness in the world and Hank was not even close to returning the kindness that he had been shown.

Once he could see the factory in the distance, Hank finally slowed down his car, though he kept pushing forwards, the headlights of his car turned off. If he wanted this to work, he truly needed the element of surprise and he could not allow himself to be seen. Soon enough, he came to a halt before the large building, turning the car off as he saw another already standing close to the doors. The doors were wide open, swinging back and forth in the hard, cold wind. With as little sound as possible, he sneaked out of the car, leaving the door open slightly to prevent making a loud sound as the closed it. The wind howled through the empty building, and he hurried up to the doors, his gun in his hands.

Quickly, he turned the corner, his gun raised as he looked through what must have been the reception, but to his fear he found no trace of the two men. His footsteps echoed through the building no matter how hard he tried to walk carefully, and he quickly took off his shoes, thus reducing the sound to mere shuffling. The floor was cold against his socked feet as he looked around the dust on the floor, trying to spot anything out of place that could tell him where Melville had taken Connor. Before he could, a scream of fear ripped through the building, and Hank’s heart stopped in his chest. That was without a doubt Connor. Hank set off in the direction of the scream, still trying to stay alert, stay quiet as he ran.

_Roof_, Melville had said, _roof_. Running through the factory in the compact darkness with nothing but the light of the grey sky outside to light his way, was difficult. He could barely see, barely tell direction as he hurried up the stairs. Once more, a scream rung through the building, the fear evident, clear. But fake, Hank realised as he kept running. There was something about it that was fake. Hank knew how Connor sounded when he was scared and he was much quieter, the terror more evident in his eyes rather than his voice. The reason for the scream must be that Connor hoped that Hank was there, that Connor wanted him to be found. _Don’t worry_, Hank thought, _I’m coming_.

Finally, he saw light in the distance. Hank’s breath was heavy, but as quiet as he could possibly make it, as he approached it slowly, tired after running up so many stairs. Astonishingly enough, he had at least not stepped on glass.

“Connor R. K” the familiar gleeful voice drifted towards him from the room as Hank got closer, filling him with dread. “Are you ready?”

For a moment, everything was deadly quiet. Nothing could be heard except for the wind outside, and now heavy breaths from the room with light. Suddenly, the world consisted only of pained, horrified screams. Hank rushed forwards without thinking, before letting his mind catch up with what he heard because this time he heard that it was real, he heard the pain in Connor’s voice so clearly that he felt even sicker. What the fuck had the asshole done?

Hank had no time to answer the question as he ran into the opening and was struck by multiple things at the same time. Before him, bathing in the light of some outdoor spotlights, was Connor, tied to a chair. In front of him stood Melville, a terrible, satisfied grin on his face that spoke of such a perverted arousal that Hank wanted to vomit and something bloody in his hand. But the worst thing, the absolute worst thing, was the blood that dripped down Connor’s pale face, and the gaping hole that was in place of his right eye. The wind from the hole in the wall beyond them, leading down to a deadly fall, was freezing ice cold, but Hank could not feel it. All he could do was to point his gun at Melville, his face painted in a grimace of anger.

“Step the fuck away from him, you sick fuck” Hank shouted, and he saw Connor twitch while Melville merely stepped away, the same wide grin upon his face. That bastard had no remorse in those grey eyes, only that sick pleasure that made him look inhumane, like a ghost there to haunt them.

“Surprise, surprise, Hank Anderson is here!” the man said in a singsong voice, and Hank finally noticed the knife in his hand, the blood dripping slowly from its edge. Prior to this moment, there had only been one time where Hank so honestly wanted to kill someone, make sure they suffered as the life drained from their eyes, and that had been the doctor that failed to save Cole. Once he got to know about the news, he had broken down, but in his mind, he merely saw himself killing that incompetent asshole. Here, now, he felt the same thing. With just one bullet, he could make sure this bastard got what he deserved.

“Hank—” the voice made Hank snap out of his rage, and he glanced over at Connor, whose now lonely brown eye looked at him with such an intensity that Hank felt himself grow beneath it. Warmth flooded him once more, but before he could say anything, Connor continued to speak, his voice broken, hoarse. “Don’t kill him—Jail… Take him in—”

Confused, Hank simply stared at Connor in disbelief. How could Connor possibly allow this man to live after all he had one? After all the lives he had taken? Yet, he could not deny him, not argue against him while Melville laughed in front of him.

“Don’t kill me, he says! Oh, such a noble heart” Melville taunted as his eyes flashed to meet Connor’s, the hatred back in the grin upon his face. “You’re no better than me”

“You heard him!” Hank interrupted, his voice strong and firm by the strength he felt Connor gave him. Yet, there was undoubtedly fear, hurt, and anger running through his veins, settling in the heavy stone in his stomach. “Drop the knife! Hands above your head!”

Now, a new emotion filled the dead grey eyes in front of him. The hatred burned ever clearer, but within it, Hank could see an honest, clear frustration. Nothing was going Melville’s way, and as the arousal from his eyes faded, the frustration, the anger grew steadily stronger. Hank knew all too well that it was dangerous to let him go further without intervention, knowing all too well that pushed, serial killers can bring down everyone around them. For the first time, Hank noticed that in the opposite hand that held the knife, Melville held Connor’s bloody right eye.

“No!” before Hank could react, the screaming Melville threw himself at him, lashing with his knife in all possible directions as he let the eye fall to the floor. Hank tried to dodge the best he could, falling to his back as the other man pushed him, landing on top of him. As if by a miracle, Hank managed to hold onto the gun while the screaming man kept lashing. A stinging feeling in Hank’s arm indicated that at least one of the lashes had found its target, but he quickly shoved the man off, his size and strength his advantage.

Within just a second, Melville threw himself at Hank once more, trying to pin him down to the floor for long enough to stab him somewhere vital, his eyes filled with a manic intensity that only put gasoline on the fire that was Hank’s fear. Hank kept bashing, pushing, doing anything in an attempt to hold the knife away from him, the butt of the gun finally striking the hand that held the knife, sending it skidding across the floor. With just the gun between them, Melville quickly changed his objective, and grabbed it, trying to wrestle it out of Hank’s hand. _Fuck_! Was the only thing Hank could think as he tried his best to keep the gun pointed at Melville, trying to resist Melville’s strong hands that pulled, trying to turn the nuzzle back around.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the room, and everything got eerily quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa stuff!! Fight!! Blood!!  
I have no idea how to write action, and I still feel like this chapter is too short and that everything happens too quickly :/  
Hopefully it's still good! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for leaving kudos and comments! It makes so damn happy to see <3   
Last Chapter coming at you sometime next week: "A Loss, and A Gain" 8)


	12. A Loss, and A Gain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it is a day late, but I actually reworked some parts of this chapter! But, here it is!  
Warning for some gore, I guess? Not much, though!

**Connor**

Time was a horribly unpredictable thing. In the car on the way to the factory, all Connor had been able to do was to count each minute, count each second, each moment with outmost care. All he needed to do was to give Hank a call, and somehow tell him where he was headed, somehow make it known that he was gone. If Hank knew, Connor could be found. He knew that Hank was an incredible detective and he needed to trust in that simple fact unless he wanted to fall down into the deep dark hole of his own anxiety, of the fear that threatened to swallow him whole.

After exiting The Corner, Melville had bound his hands behind his back with a belt before throwing him in the backseat of a black Volvo, and it was only by pure luck that Connor could reach his phone as it fell out of his pocket at impact with the seat, gently sliding over the leather seats, just within reach. For 25 whole minutes, all he had been able to do was to count the minutes, and slowly edge closer to the phone, slowly slide until it was at his fingertips. Oh, his heart had been in his throat at first contact with the sleek surface of his smartphone, and in his excitement, he almost pushed it to the floor, but caught it just in time to slide it behind his back. Luckily for him, he had put Hank’s contact on fast dial long ago, and he only needed to scan his finger to unlock the phone, pressing a button twice for it to ring, the silence in the car almost deafening, each slow second a lifetime.

Yet, by some miraculous chance, he had heard Hank’s muffled voice, and he knew the lieutenant had picked up the phone. After that, all he had to do was play his cards correctly and hope with all of his heart that Hank would be smart enough to figure it out. No. He knew that Hank was smart enough, he knew that he could trust him, and all he had to do was to hold on.

The factory loomed high above them as Melville came to a halt in what was once a parking lot but was now nothing else but overgrown dirt and cracked asphalt. Outside, the wind howled, making the car creak, and yet Connor could not think about the ice cold nor the way Melville scoffed at him as all he could pray for, all that he could wish for, was that Hank would come. Before Melville opened the door, Connor managed to hang up and push the phone onto the floor, out of the prying eyes of the sick man that now gave him a wide, toothy grin. Oh, those teeth looked too white in his all too pale face and Connor tried his best to keep a straight face, to stay unyielding.

“C’mere now” Melville said as the door was open, and Connor gently slid out into the dark, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, the nervousness a choking lump in his throat. The wind bit his cheeks, made his teeth clatter by the numbing sensation as loose snow drifted over the black asphalt below their feet, collecting in drifts along the wheels of the car. In the very same car where Connor’s last hope laid hidden on the floor.  
  
“So, what do you think?” the insane man’s voice was almost high pitched in excitement as he started to pull Connor along the asphalt to the doors of the factory that hung open, creaking in the wind. Above the skies were dark, no stars in sight, and Connor was scared, so terribly scared. He should have known that Melville would come for him as soon as he saw that face back on the rooftop, as soon as he was thrown over the edge.

Another scoff escaped Melville as they finally stepped into the serene silence of the factory, the wind howling through the cracks of the concrete walls, disturbing the dust that covered the once shining floor. Connor knew that he should not humour Melville with his fear, should not keep absolutely quiet either for the risk of awakening his anger, and yet all Connor could do was to bite his cheek, the taste or iron slowly spreading through his mouth, making him feel nauseous in its intensity.

“Keeping quiet won’t do you any good” it was Melville again, and Connor could hear on the roughness of his voice that the man was either getting frustrated, or getting even more excited in a way that made Connor’s blood freeze to ice, his breath catching in his throat. Was that arousal he heard in the slight gruff of Melville’s voice? Of course, Connor knew that narcissists such as the man that now held him could get more of a sexual satisfaction from his kills. An odd, perverted desire to kill and to dominate drove people like this to murder. Was Melville one of them?

“In my own defence, you did kidnap me” Connor tried to retort casually, but the shiver of his own voice, the uneasiness of it, gave away his fear as clear as day. Each word seemed to echo endlessly through the long corridors and old, closed offices, but Melville kept leading him upwards in the light of a flashlight, the single bright circle guiding their way up, up, up. The outside world seemed far away, and the hope for Hank even further, even more unlikely.

_Is this how I die?_

Again, he had to bite his cheek to keep himself in check, to keep himself in power while Melville chuckled at him, a sound that sent cold shivers of fear down Connor’s back, once again into his heart, into his very core.

“Trying to be funny, are we?” Melville taunted, and Connor dared not look back at the man that lead him upwards, onwards, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of the heights Melville had talked about, of the roof he had claimed they were heading for. Ever since his fall, Connor had been bad with heights, terrified of them almost to a numbing degree, and now as he was headed for them, he felt his knees wobble.

“No, just stating the facts” this was not good, not good at all and Connor knew that he was not doing good as his eyes kept dashing back and forwards, kept trying to seek the way out in the most obvious, panicked way. His heart felt like a fluttering bird, locked in a cage, smashing against the walls in an attempt to get out as panic built up in the tiny little animal. Everything felt so surreal, and breathing was difficult, walking even more so as Melville’s hand held his upper arm mercilessly hard, his nails digging in, leaving blue bruises blossoming behind.

“Keep stating facts, then. Won’t do you any good regardless” by the tone of Melville’s voice, Connor knew that he should not push it, and he kept quiet, his whole body tense in fear as he saw Melville’s breath in white puffs in the corner of his eyes.

Suddenly, there was light in the distance. The two of them stepped onto one last floor, and in the end of the hallway through an open door, there was light. Straight away as he saw it, Connor could not longer contain the fear that now rushed through him, that now took a hold of each cell in his body, and he tried to pull away, tried to pull back to no success. Melville’s grasp on his arm was hard, too hard, and his laughter was even harder, as cold as the wind that blew.

No matter how hard he fought it, Connor was brought slowly forwards until the two of them stepped into the lit room, blinking in the sudden, bright light. Here, the cold was almost unbearable and the sound of howling wind a constant moan through the building, a sound so empty and cold that the lump in Connor’s throat grew heavier, grew harder, his heart aching. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw the gaping hole in the wall. Fear struck him even greater, and he took a step back, his heart thundering, his eyes wide as he saw the white ground far below, saw Detroit twinkling in the distance.

“Lovely, hmm?” Melville purred in Connor’s ear, and Connor could not respond, could not open his mouth for the fear of what would come out if he did. Now was not the time to allow old fears and anxieties affect him, not at all, and yet he saw the ground far below and he ached. Silently, in his own mind, he reminded himself of Hank, of safe, strong Hank, and the fact that he was coming, he must be coming. With that in mind he finally managed to take a deeper breath through his nose and assessed the situation.

Before him was a singular wooden chair. It had a backrest and armrests, its leg stood firmly on the ground, although not bolted down to Connor’s own relief. In the corners of the room, pointing toward the chair were the lights that had blinded him and somewhere in the corner of his eyes he noticed a bag of sorts, or something at least, that rested against the wall. The air was cold, and yet Melville’s grip on his arm was hot, his breath in his neck even hotter, sending fear down Connor’s spine.

“Now you’ll listen to me and take a seat” Melville breathed out, seemingly happy for the evident fear in Connor’s eyes, for the clear terror in his tense body and shivering hands. Almost painfully slowly, Melville brought Connor to the chair and forced him to sit, his arms now hung around the backrest of the chair. The uncomfortable position made Connor’s shoulders ache, and yet he kept his mouth shut, his eyes fully focused on the door from whence they had come, the dark hallway where he hoped so deeply Hank would come. Yet, there was a lot of time still for Hank to drive there, Connor knew as much, he tried to keep counting the minutes, but it grew more and more difficult as Melville removed the belt from around his wrists only to strap him down into the chair, not giving Connor even a second to fight it.

For a moment, there was only silence as Melville stepped back and looked at Connor, his eyes filled with that hotness, that horrifying energy that made Connor want to run away, to hide before something horrible would happen. Bound to the chair, he had nowhere to go, he knew as much. No matter whether he actually managed to kick himself up, to stand up, he would never be able to overpower Melville that was both stronger than him and had the advantage on all other levels. All Connor could do was to bide time, to wait for Hank.

“There, now you are exactly where I want you~” the killer hummed as he walked over to the bag by the wall that Connor could now see clearly. It was a large, black duffle bag, but he could not see its contents nor its brand as all he could see was the manic look in Melville’s eyes when he bent down, rummaging through it while still humming that broken tune.

“You see” Melville began, his back still turned to Connor. “Usually, I have a lot of fun before I kill you. First, I take a knife” as he spoke, he brandished a knife from the bag, the light reflecting against the sleek surface, his eyes meeting Connor’s. “and I start cutting. I cut and cut and cut and cut! It is so much fun to see your perfect skin broken like that! I spend days just cutting, but I always make sure you’re alive for it all. Sometimes you scream, sometimes you cry, sometimes you’re angry and sometimes you’re sad. You are always you, though. And I always get what I want”

Slowly, Melville straightened his back, the knife still held in his hands and Connor felt his heart hammering harder by the sight, the fear now a hand that took him, dragging him down towards the dark depths below. There was definitely a dark amusement in Melville’s eyes, definitely a narcissism in his stance and the way he taunted, dragging out on the moment as if he had all the time in the world. At least, by doing so he gave Hank more time.

“I think I’m going to step ahead a bit” the next words made Connor freeze in place, his eyes locked with the knife and Melville must have noticed, for he let out a barking laugh, a satisfaction therein clear for all to see. “Up on that roof when I thought I first killed you again, your eyes struck me! Truly! You have such brown eyes, and it reminds me of all those years ago when you and I were out playing in the world. I remember you got that determined look when we were playing soccer, and that night we won! Our team won!”

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Melville broke out in cheerful, victorious shouts, pumping his fist in the air in some mock re-enactment of some memory in which Connor had never been a part, had never even known about until this very moment. Yet, the fact that Melville kept talking to him as if he had been there was more than enough to show his broken worldview, his deluded idea of righteousness that made Connor look to him like someone he had never even met in his entire life. It filled Connor with such an unease as he watched the strange man jump around the room with the knife still in his hand, shouting the name of some old soccer team without paying any mind to Connor, without being aware of where he was. Until, he stopped. The smile on Melville’s lips faded, his eyes grew vacant as he looked at Connor, his arms falling to his side. For a moment, he looked so absolutely empty inside that Connor felt unease crawl beneath his skin, felt the cold enter his heart until he could barely breathe.

“It was your victory, though” Melville almost whispered, a dangerous, lingering threat that made Connor feel weak, his breath white in the air. “It was your victory, not mine. You never shared it with me. No one shared it with me. I was on that team and yet you were the one people cheered for. You. Only you. Same with Maya. You take all those victories away from me even though they were mine. They. Were. Mine.”

Melville walked up to Connor, his breath fowl, his eyes wide and bloodstained as he held the knife to Connor’s cheek, the light blinding. Panic filled Connor’s heart, but he did not let that show, did not let himself twitch under the cold, cold blade, did not let himself look away from those dead eyes above. Instead, he opened his mouth, and screamed. Screamed in terror that was both real and not real at the same time, screamed in hope that Hank would be there, that Hank would hear him and come to save him. The shock of the sudden sound sent Melville a step back, blinking almost a bit as Connor’s mouth once again closed, yet the sound continued to ring through the dead, empty factory, bouncing between the concrete walls.

“Don’t you dare try to scare me” the voice was a hiss, a sudden anger playing in Melville for a moment, yet he did not step closer as he instead watched Connor, his head cocked to the side, his eyes still wide, still so oddly empty. Connor had no idea whether his scream had worked, whether he had done anything ta all correctly, the lump in his throat now making him almost nauseous with pure, white fear.

“Don’t you dare try to scare me” Melville repeated, though the usual tone of his voice slowly came back as he stepped forwards, eyeing Connor with something new in his eyes, with that heat back that made Connor so incredibly uncomfortable, for he knew exactly what it meant. Arousal, no doubt. “Do it again”

For a moment Connor merely watched the man in disbelief, but Melville quickly stepped forwards, taking a hard enough hold of Connor’s hair to made him wince, slamming his head back on the backrest of the chair, his teeth gritted, his eyes aflame. All Connor could see for a couple of seconds was stars that danced through the air like snow, the pain intense enough to make him groan and he obeyed before he could think, letting another scream tear past his lips, tear through his throat until he could feel it strain, could feel it grow sore.

Before his very eyes, Connor saw Melville’s face contort, saw it twist and turn between a frown and a large, toothy grin, watched his eyebrows furrow only to raise, his pupils wide, dark, endless. There was something so terrifying about the emptiness of those eyes, something so dark, that Connor found himself shivering, trying to pull on the ropes that tied him to the chair with no success. Melville leaned in, his foul, dark breath hot, wet against Connor’s cold face, those eyes so horrifyingly dark.

“Oh, I like that. I like it when you scream” he whispered, a dark growl to his voice as he slowly raised the knife to Connor’s right eye, the edge close enough for his eyelid to start blinking by reflex, his head trying to pull back from it, but it was impossible. With his hand still intertwined with Connor’s hair, pulling his head back back until Connor’s neck ached, it was impossible to escape. Nothing he could do would bring that knife further away, and Melville was everywhere, his breath so nauseating, his hands so hot, the wind so achingly cold.

“I see what you’re trying to do. I see what you are all trying to do. You’re not Ben, you’re not. You are so like him, more like him than anyone else. Because I can see that hope in your eyes, that, oh, so pretty little light dancing like a firefly” Connor felt chills on his arms by the way the voice spoke for it was now actually talking to him, those eyes were actually looking at him, and he thought that it would be better if he felt that Melville was focusing on him rather than the man he killed all those months ago, but it was not. It was worse. Way, way worse. “Connor R. K... Are you ready?”

Something sharp suddenly filled Connor’s right eye, a pain so deep and so searing that Connor screamed and screamed and screamed, never seeming to find an end to that horrific, terrible pain. Panic was now all that he was as he felt the edge of the knife scrape against bone, felt it cut something, and the hot, wet blood that ran down his cheeks like tears. He was aware of nothing else but that pain, that empty odd feeling as something was picked out of his skull, something brushed against his skin in an almost slimy feeling, so wet, so hot. And in the midst of it all, a familiar voice.

“Step the fuck away from him, you sick fuck”

“Surprise, surprise, Hank Anderson is here!”

_No._

_Please, no._

In the midst of his pain, in the midst of his panic, Connor could not let Hank kill Melville. If hank was actually there, if Hank had actually come for him, he could not let him kill Melville. The man should be brought to justice, should be judged, because it was the right thing to do. To take a life would leave traces upon Hank deeper than anything else, and Connor could not let Hank go through that, he could not.

“Hank—” he managed to breathe out through the pain, through the hot darkness that loomed just beyond, making him unable to hear, unable to see even more so than before. “Don’t kill him—Jail… Take him in—”

Pain and fear was all Connor could feel. It was as if the entire world had changed, and he knew that in a way it had. Whenever he looked at something, he found it to look odd, off in a way he could not explain, but it sent him reeling by the panic it caused, by the realisation that he had actually lost an eye. That was the only explanation to the gaping hole in his vision, to the strangeness of the world and that horrible, horrible pain. He was still trying to grasp with the realisation, as a loud BANG of a gun echoed through the walls of the room, interrupting the panic of his mind, leaving him only with that echoing silence, with that horrifying emptiness.

“Hank—” he begged, unable to see anything other than the two figures in the distance, and their sudden stop of movement. “Please, Hank—Answer me!”

Slowly, as if in slow motion, sound seemed to catch up on them as he heard someone pull a breath in, gasp in surprise. It was not Hank, that much Connor knew, but he could not tell, could not see what had happened. Powerless, he tried to struggle against the ropes that held him to the chair, but the pain in his eye, or lack thereof, overwhelmed him, made his head spin.

In the corner of his unhurt eye, he once again noticed movement, though this time he heard the jangle of chains, and something clicking. Heavy breathing reached his ears, and Connor almost groaned in frustration, but too scared to lose any information, he kept quiet. The movements continued, and Connor could hear shuffling footsteps as the wind from the open part of the wall made his teeth clatter.

“I’m fine” at last, Hank spoke, and Connor felt such a wave of relief that he smiled despite the pain, beamed, until he realised where the shot must have hit. Yet, despite his desire to capture Melville and let him get the legal punishment he deserved, the fact that Hank was alive made it not matter anymore. Nothing mattered, but those three words, spoken with such an exhaustion.

“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?” Connor kept asking, the fear in his voice as clear as day and he hated how fragile he sounded, how fragile he felt. Waves of pain kept shooting throughout him, threatening to force him into the darkness of unconsciousness, but he tried to stay, tried to keep himself grounded enough to know that Hank was alright.

“Jesus, Connor” the fear in Hank’s voice was obvious, and Connor felt almost relieved at hearing the worry, feeling in a way, happy to hear it. He had had no idea whether his phone call would work, whether Hank would even wake at the ringing, but apparently, he had. With barely any information, he had found him anyway, had saved him from such a horrible fate. How much could a man owe another? For Connor owed Hank everything. 

“You’re here asking me if I’m fine, while you’re here looking like a pirate or something!” the voice was getting closer, and eventually Connor could see Hank. Walking towards him, he looked more beautiful than ever before, and Connor felt like weeping, like throwing himself into those arms and never let go, but all he could do was smile weakly. From his position, it seemed as if there were no larger injuries on the man other than tears in the grey hoodie that probably came from the knife, and bloody handprints, presumably from Melville.

“I was so scared” Connor whispered as Hank was finally close, finally there, leaning down to untie the ropes around his wrists. Suddenly, Connor was struck by a realisation. “Is he dead?”

Hank seemed to understand straight away who he meant, and as he finally managed to get Connor’s arms free, he shook his head. For a moment, Hank just stood there, and all Connor could do was to look up at him with his lonely eye, feeling overwhelmed by the relief, by the love that made his heart squeeze in his chest. Slowly, Hank leaned down, but Connor could see nothing more. The pain had finally taken its toll on him, and he fell unconscious.

* * *

When Connor came to himself again, he found himself in a dark room, laying on his back. In panic, he sat up, his eyes (_eye_) drifting across the room, trying to see something, anything, but everything looked so off. Fear filled him once more, clawing desperately in his throat. Where was Hank? Where was Melville? Was Hank okay? Had Hank been hurt?

Questions filled Connor’s head to the brim where he sat, a pain slowly, but surely, snaking its way from the back of his head forwards, until it settled in his right eye where it throbbed heavily. Involuntarily, he breathed out through his teeth as he pain grew steadily worse, and as he did, he saw something move in the corner of his eye. Before he could say something, someone turned on a gentle light, and the room was finally revealed to him. He was in a hospital. He hated hospitals.

“Connor?” the familiar voice belonged to a man he had not noticed before was sitting on his left side. It took Connor a moment before he finally recognised those features, disoriented as he was. Again, he felt relief flood through him, past the concern, and he would have thrown himself at the other, were it not for the IV stuck to the back of his right hand. Instead, all he could do was reach out a hand towards the man he loved so dearly, pleadingly asking without words for everything he wanted, for Hank to come close.

“Hank” he whispered, and now he saw the deep concern in Hank’s so brilliantly blue eyes, saw the dark bags beneath his eyes. Now, he was only wearing a t-shirt, his right upper arm bandaged thoroughly. It hurt to see that Hank had gotten injured, but he was there, alive, that was all that mattered to Connor.

“Fuck, Connor, I was so worried” Hank whispered as he finally grabbed Connor’s outstretched hand, holding it between his own larger hands, holding it to his face. “You just decked out on me, I thought you died”

Now Connor could feel the trembles in Hank’s hand, feel the way he held him so desperately, and he could see the tension in his brows. How long had Hank been sitting there?

“How long was I out?” he asked instead, knowing all too well that he was focusing on completely other things than Hank did, but he did not care. All that mattered to him was Hank’s well-being, and quite frankly, he was too scared to think about himself. There was something new he would have to get used to, he knew that, but for the moment he only needed the reassurance that Hank was there with him.

“Just a couple of hours” Hank spoke, but Connor could tell that there was something else on his mind. “They tried to save your eye, but that bastard Melville knew how to inflict permanent damage… I’m sorry, Connor, I’m so sorry”

Oh, so gently, Connor suddenly felt two lips press against the hand that Hank held so delicately between his, beard tickling his skin. Had he really felt right? His heart began to hammer once more, a new blush blossoming on his otherwise cold cheeks as he opened his mouth before closing it again. Reeling between the growing nervousness and the news that he had truly lost his eye forever, made him feel nauseous, dizzy.

“It’s not your fault” he ended up saying, having to bite himself in the cheek to prevent himself from saying something desperate, all too aware that doing that now would make things worse. Having Hank’s warm hands against his own, feeling his calming presence; it was what Connor so desperately needed that he dared not allow himself to ruin it. “You found me in time, and we’re alright. How’s your arm? Did he injure you?”

“For fuck’s sake, Connor!” Hank raised his voice slightly, desperation suddenly clear in his eyes, and Connor fell silent, his heart hammering even harder. “You could have died! You almost died! You lost a goddamn eye and you’re asking me how I am? How I feel? What the fuck?”

The last words came out in something close to a whimper, and Connor noticed that Hank’s eyes were filling with tears, making his blue irises look even more like a tropical ocean. To Connor, he was absolutely stunning then and there despite his tacky t-shirt and messy hair. He was absolutely gorgeous, and Connor felt his breath taken away.

“You really don’t get it do you?” a whisper was all Hank managed from where he sat at Connor’s left side. “I could’ve lost you and I would never have survived that. After all this time, after Cole, I thought that I would never want to live again. And then you pop up all out of a sudden with your damn beautiful eyes and the most wonderful smile I’ve ever seen. You came into my life with kindness that I don’t deserve, and you made me want to live again. Don’t you dare take that away from me”

Connor’s heart was hammering even wilder in his chest as he heard Hank speak and he felt hope blossom within him, felt it fill each inch of his heart until it felt like bursting. There was no way, right? No way Hank could be speaking of the very thing Connor felt, the very thing that made him ache with such a desire to just belong, to just finally find his place and never leave.

“I know I’m an old, broken man, and I’m not supposed to, but I love you, Connor…” the words were said so tenderly, so gently that Connor suddenly felt special, as if he actually was something worth fighting for and it made him smile despite it all, despite the pain. Those were the very words he had longed to hear for so long and now that he heard it, he just could not get enough. “I love you so much and I just can’t anymore…”

“Hank, you idiot” Connor found himself whispering and silently cursing the IV that kept him in place, wishing to reach over and hug Hank with all of his might, but instead he spoke once more, his voice soft. “When Melville came to The Corner and I understood that I was in danger, it was the first time in a very long while where I felt that I wanted to live. He said that if I didn’t join him, he would go for you instead, and I knew I had to follow. I wanted to live, but not without you. You made me want to live, and I just—I love you so much, Hank, and I want a future with you”

When he finished speaking, he had to take a moment to breathe, his head throbbing heavily and once again he breathed out through his teeth, trying his hardest not to wince. Not now. Mr. Collins had told him that it was worth a try, and he had been so absolutely right. There was no way Connor could let this moment disappear for he needed this so desperately that it was worth gritting through the pain no matter the price. Hank had to know how loved he was, how deeply Connor felt. 

“You’re the one who doesn’t get it” he continued before Hank could start speaking again and Connor could see the light that flooded into his eyes, the realisation that dawned upon him like the dawn outside the hospital window. “You matter the most to me and I need you to be alright… No matter how tacky your shirts are nor what anyone else says, I love you”

Visible tears now rolled down Hank’s cheeks, wetting his beard as he finally leaned in over. The closer he came, the more Connor’s heart hammered, but regardless he leaned in, desiring the closeness more than anything in the world. Finally, Connor felt Hank’s lips against his own, surprisingly soft, and he melted into it. After all this time, this was what he had wanted, and now that he had it, he could not let go. Instead, he got out his hand from Hank’s grasp and instead gripped his shirt, pulling him in closer with a desperation he knew came from worry, from the fear that the events prior that night had installed in him. Never again did he want to lose Hank, never.

Hank seemed to grow steadily softer against him as they kept kissing, their lips brushing together, parting into a much more passionate kiss and Hank gently placed one of his hands on the back of Connor’s head, holding him close while trying not to hurt him.

Like this, Connor finally felt that everything was going to be alright. No matter what, as long as they had each other, they were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! We're finally here! At the end of my first ever finished fic!  
Wow! This feels weird as fuck! As I mentioned in the beginning of the chapter, I reworked some things because I felt that it was very anticlimactic and I really did not like it the way it was. I'm still not overly happy with it since I wrote it now during two days at the same time as I was writing something academic for uni, but I still hope it's good!
> 
> So, what do you guys think? I super appreciate all of you that have left comments and kudos! You're the reason I actually took the bull by its horns and added some stuff for this chapter, because I really want you all to feel like it is a satisfying ending to this little story. 
> 
> Thank you SO SO much for reading and everything! Take care of yourselves and remember that there is always something worth fighting for <3  
There is going to be an epilogue chapter to this fic if I make it work, and I'll probably upload it in a week. It's a small look at life after this fic, and just some softness!  
Thank you once again!!


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